


Sliptime

by Red Dragon (Red_Dragonn)



Series: Sliptime [1]
Category: Licanius Series - James Islington, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: (I guess?) - Freeform, (sort of?), Aftermath of Torture, Alaris Needs a Hug, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aromantic, Asexual Character, Canon Continuation, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Dead People, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Fake Character Death, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Graphic Description of Corpses, Harm to Children, I Tried, Implied/Referenced Torture, Irony, Jandel, Kaladin Needs A Hug, Kor'ad, Major Original Character(s), Meldier Needs a Hug, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Murder, NaNoWriMo, No Smut, Not A Fix-It, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), Past Mind Control, Repressed Memories, Secret Organizations, Secrets, Sorry Not Sorry, Spies & Secret Agents, To Be Edited, Torture, War, Zombies, i guess echoes are zombies?, of a sort, or well. not that graphic., secretive assholes, yes that's true i love ace/aro Kaladin a lot and you're not prying it out of my sticky ace/aro hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-01-28 06:43:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 56
Words: 102,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12600608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Dragonn/pseuds/Red%20Dragon
Summary: Kaladin goes to sleep in a bunker in the Kholin warcamp, having finally saved the bridgemen of Bridge Four.He wakes upsomewhere else.





	1. Prologue | A State of Transition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, someone has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so i rewrote the prologue and first chapter. That’s this. The next parts are...not so good.

Cyr did not shiver. 

He was always cold, at this point. Hypothermia had set in days-hours-minutes-years-seconds ago, and he was by far now too cold to shiver. The cold had seeped into his bones and into his blood and, inch by frigid, agonizing inch, it had wormed its way into his mind and froze him into this withering husk of who he used to be. His limbs were purpled and frostbitten; his mind burned sharp and fragile with the cold-hardened clarity of ice. It had been a long, long while since he could remember the feeling of warmth. The word even seemed to elude him sometimes. 

By now—for it had been months, years, millenia, days, minutes, who even knew—by now the cold in this half-real place didn’t even feel cold any more. It burned him like fire; it crushed like the weight of a stone. It poked at his stillness-stiffened nerves with electric points like needles. It felt false. 

He felt as false as this never-changing place and its never-changing rocks and its never-changing snow and it’s _unchangeability_ and its perfect stillness. He was broken inside. This he knew with the cold-cut clarity of steel.

Cyr was ready for this to be over. 

But how to escape? How to flee a trap designed to hold one such as he? Cyr could die, and still not be free of this _damned_ frozen permanence. It was torture, and it was unending. How would he possibly escape? It was futile. Hopeless. Yet he clawed at the intangible bars of his frozen prison; he paced, he screamed with a voice that sounded like the empty silence to his broken ears, he railed against everything that held him here until he was exhausted. And then he did it again.

Finally. Eons turned around him as he sat dully in the false snow. He couldn’t muster the energy to stand up; his limbs felt frozen into place. A sharp-cold thought sliced its way to his sluggish attention.

 _Die_.

It wasn’t new. It had been a constant desire for this last section of whatever innumerable time he had spent in this place. _Die. Die. To die, to die._ But this one’s razor edge came with another, sharper thought. He might have bled if he pressed up against it, he thought that he thought, but his mind had been hardened—frozen solid—by the time he’d done here.

 _Erase yourself. Reach out for something bright, and burn your own mind out with it_.

On shaking, disused limbs—too cold even to shiver—Cyr pushed himself up so that he was standing. 

_Replace yourself with something bright. Something stronger than you are_. 

To subject another to this torment would have been a horrific idea to the person who Cyr could faintly remember being, once, a long time ago back when things had colors other than blue and black and gray and ashen, pale gray-tan. That person had been dead of frostbite for long enough that they didn’t even stir as Cyr reached out with half-numbed senses to the sky, the ground, anywhere that wasn’t _here._

The void stared back at him, empty. Unreachable. Nothing there was bright enough, sharp enough, _powerful_ enough to burn something like him out of existence. Once, Cyr could have expected the world to look like a thousand stars if he looked through these eyes; now, caged as he was, he couldn’t even be sure that he _was_ seeing the world at _all._ But something shone through the blindfold over his metaphysical eyes…something. 

He stretched out his senses as far as they would go, and hit a wall of dark, icy energy—of kan—not far out. Far behind that faint light. It was unreachable. He was trapped. He screamed, not that it would do anything…

The light drifted closer, as though it could hear him, ever so faintly, through the bars in his trap.

Cyr stared at it in mute shock, and then in desperate entreaty. “ _Please_ ,” he shrieked, or thought he did. “Please, please, come here, please,” he called, he _begged_ , and now he was sobbing for the first time in eternity, tears streaming down from his eyes to freeze on his cheeks and lips. “Please, please, don’t leave me here, please..”

The little light came closer. Closer, closer, ever so close…it was close enough. He grabbed it, struggling. A tiny voice in his mind screamed at him not to do _this_ , to do anything but _this atrocity_ , but it had been dead long enough that he ignored it. 

Cyr wanted to die, and damn the consequences, he was _going to_. 

* * *

Kaladin stared at the wall of the barrack and tried to quiet his mind enough to sleep. Questions raced through his head. 

It had been this afternoon that his life— _all_ the bridgemen’s lives—had been bought with Dalinar Kholin’s own shardblade. None of this made sense. Nothing made sense any more, and he was…it had him _anxious_ as all hell, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Syl drifted softly as a pair of flower petals in an invisible breeze overhead.

She suddenly whizzed out the door of the new barrack, chasing something. Kaladin rolled over on one arm and squinted after her, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could see. She did this every once in a while, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

Still, it was late, and he was exhausted, and he couldn’t make himself get up and follow her. Eventually, just like water flows downhill, he succumbed to sleep’s dark embrace.

* * *

He woke up screaming.

It felt like there was lightning running through every inch of his body, or like someone had replaced his blood with ice and broken glass. He couldn’t breathe. His fingers and toes were cold, and they _hurt_. He couldn’t even feel if he were standing or sitting or still in his bunk, the pain was so intense. It as a labor of incredible effort just to realize that his eyes were closed and _open them_. 

He found a small, dull gray pane of glass a few inches in front of his face. Outside that, he could see by some reddish light what looked to be the inside of a cave. Stalactites and stalagmites extended towards each other, in front of him, as though they were teeth. Nothing moved. The panic started to flood away, replaced by confusion and growing horror. _This is not the barrack I went to sleep in_. 

He gritted his teeth and tried to look down, only to find that he couldn’t _move_. It felt like there were thick bands of metal around his chest—spots danced in his vision—he couldn’t _breathe._ Something wet seemed to slide over his agonized fingers, and he thought it had to have been blood. It felt almost like there were hooks being dragged through his flesh. Or like someone was slowly trying to tear him apart with a thousand tiny knives. The pain built up to an almost unimaginable degree, and he knew—just for one split second—that there was no way he could survive this. It was horrific. It was world-ending—

* * *

The world spun around him, and the pain was _gone_.

It was colder, though Kaladin wasn’t convinced that that was a bad thing. He was dizzy, exhausted from the _agony_ he’d just been put through, and he fell to his knees into some sort of… _white powder._ It was absolutely frigid, and melted when he touched it. He yanked his hands away from it in shock.

The handprints he’d left went to harder, more packed whiteness. Like ice.

 _Storms_ , Kaladin realized as though in a daze. _This has got to be snow_. 

He looked up and immediately had to fight back a rush of vertigo. Directly to his left was a sheer, straight drop hundreds of feet down. Clouds bulged at the bottom edge of where he could see. He spun in a circle, taking in the view. He had to be at the highest point for _miles_. Possibly the highest point anywhere at all.

“Syl, do you see this?” he asked.

Syl didn’t answer him.

 _What_. 

“Syl?”

He looked around, trying to spot a glimpse of that familiar glowing blue-white. The sky dazzled him, and the ice and snow shone pure white, and he was blinded; but he squinted against it and it faded into the background. He didn’t see her. 

“Syl!” he yelled, voice echoing strangely over the mountaintop and fading away just as fast. 

There was no response. 

Kaladin took a deep breath and turned towards where he had been facing originally, where he had fallen to his hands and knees, trying to find a path. 

He found something else, instead, something far stranger.

The handprints he’d left in the snow were gone. Wiped clear, as though the snow had built up on top of it somehow. 

He stared. Turned around, whirling wildly, as though maybe that wasn’t where he knew it had been. Heart racing as though it were going to leap out of his chest, he stared in horror at the pristine snow. 

The clouds didn’t move.

Why didn’t the clouds move? He could feel the wind against his skin; biting cold, stinging with tiny flecks of ice. Why was it so constant? Why did the snow not stay as it had been when he turned his back on it for even just a second?

And where was _Syl_?

What was this place? 

* * *

Kaladin was about ready to _scream_ when a strange, foreign voice snapped him out of his rapidly spiraling panic. He didn’t catch what they said, but _any_ change in this place stood out. He could see that already.

“What?” he yelled, failing to see anyone. He sure hoped there really was a person out there, one of the Horneaters or something— 

“Cyr!” the voice yelled. It was coming from _below the cliff_. 

Kaladin scrambled to the edge and squinted, hands and knees in the snow. There was a person there. He couldn’t see much of them beyond a head of brown hair, but he thought they were trying to scale the vertical cliff face.

“Who are you?” Kaladin yelled down, albeit cautiously. A strange person appearing just when he needed it most? Suspicious. Actually, this whole situation was weirder than anything he had the words to put together, but it was…he didn’t trust it at all. And he didn’t trust this new person, whoever they were.

“Cyr?” the person said again. “Are you…are you okay?”

Kaladin blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“Hold on, I’m coming up,” said the man, and seemed to find his handholds. All of a sudden he was off up the side of the cliff, scaling it like a cremling might climb up a smooth boulder. He was _fast_.

It couldn’t have been very long before the man nearly up and Kaladin was extending a hand so that he could haul himself up the final edge of the cliff to sit on the ground without a care for its wet iciness. He was darkeyed, sure, but he was wearing very, _very_ finely made clothing like a lighteyes might. He grinned and flopped down onto the ground like they were old friends. Kaladin found his hackles drawn up around his ears just by that alone. 

“…who are you?” Kaladin asked again. 

The man snorted. “Ah, Cyr, am I that forgettable?”

Kaladin stared at him.

“You look different,” he continued, still in the same affable tone. “Does the Tributary really keep you here through even the Chamber?”

 _What_?

The man furrowed his brow, fixing Kaladin with a perplexed gaze. He snapped his fingers. “Cyr?”

Kaladin decided to try a different approach. “Where are we?” 

The man shrugged. “Well, Cyr, I’d guess this is one of your dok’en, but it looks broken,” he said lightly. “You would know more about that than I would.”

 _Dok’en? What in storms?_ “Um,” said Kaladin. “Will you please tell me who you are? Your name, at least?”

The man stared at him. Kaladin stared back. 

Finally, the stranger sighed. “You’re not kidding. You really don’t recognize me?”

Kaladin shook his head.

“My name is Alaris,” the man said. “Cyr, are you alright? We’ve known each other for one hell of a long time. Are you sure you don’t know who I am?”

Kaladin scratched a line in the snow idly. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“What?”

“Cyr,” Kaladin said. “You’ve said it a lot. Why?”

Kaladin could swear that Alaris stopped breathing for a second there. “That’s…Cyr, that’s your _name,_ ” he said, aghast.

“My name,” said Kaladin carefully, “is Kaladin.”

Alaris bit his lip awkwardly, looking out over the view. “I…it’s not,” he said eventually. “It’s not.”

Kaladin tried not to snap at Alaris. “I think I would know if my name was Cyr,” he said. “It’s _Kaladin_.”

Alaris shrugged sadly. “The Tributary, or maybe this broken dok’en, or _something_ —it must have done a number on you, too,” he said heavily. “We’ll fix this once we get back to Ilshan Gathdel Teth, though. I know we will.”

Despite this, he didn’t sound incredibly optimistic. And Kaladin was _confused_. 

“ _Stormfather_ , man, do you ever say _anything_ that isn’t completely inscrutable?” 

Alaris choked on a laugh, and it died halfway out of his throat. “That was a joke, right?”

“No, it…really, really wasn’t,” Kaladin said.

Alaris sighed. “Nothing I said was all that hard to figure out,” he said. “Do you know where the Tributary is located?”

Kaladin scraped his nails on the ice when he picked his hands up. He put them in his lap. They were freezing. “I have no idea what a Tributary is.”

“You—” Alaris stopped. “What Tal’kamar put you into? That’s a Tributary,” he said.

“Right,” said Kaladin, who was utterly lost by this. “What’s Tal’kamar?”

Alaris took a deep breath,stopped, opened his mouth, and then drew back. “I…he’s…he’s _Tal’kamar_. You can’t really fit him into words,” he said.

“That clears it _right_ up, thanks,” Kaladin bit out. “And what’s a Tributary, then?”

“It’s a Vessel,” Alaris said. “It drains your Essence.”

Well, _that_ sounded incredibly auspicious. “Is that the…um…torture box I was in?”

Alaris nodded. “That’s one way to put it, I guess—”

“So what happens to the Essence it steals?”

“It powers a wall,” Alaris said, “a massive ilshara. Utterly enormous. It splits the continent in half. But it was…that was one of Andrael’s designs.” Alaris winced. “I’m sorry. That must be recent.”

Kaladin had exactly no idea what he was talking about. 

“Cyr, this is important,” Alaris said. “I know that you’re confused—fates, I’m sorry about that—but you need to tell me. Do you know where the Tributary is?”

“No,” said Kaladin.

Alaris smacked a hand against his forehead. 

“I can tell you what it looked like, though,” Kaladin said quickly. 

“That might help,” he said. 

“A cave, I think,” Kaladin offered. “Dim, but not pitch-dark, even though I couldn’t see any kind of light source. The light was maybe red or orange, I think?”

“You didn’t see anything else?”

Kaladin shrugged. “Not that I can remember.”

“Well,” Alaris said with a shrug in return, “that’s the best you’ve got?”

Kaladin nodded.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said, standing. “I swear it, brother. We’re going to free you.”

Kaladin blinked. “We’re not related.”

Alaris stared at him for a half-second. “We’re getting you out of here,” he said again. “On El’s name and on my own, I swear it. Wait for me.”

He took a step forwards, right to the edge of the cliff. 

“Wait—what are you doing?” Kaladin yelped, but he was already a second slow. Alaris _launched_ himself into the air and leapt over the edge of the cliff, falling straight down in almost dead silence. He hit the cloud layer, and then it was as though he had never existed. 

All was silent, and all was still.

Kaladin shuddered. This world was so unnatural, so wrong. It was as though it were dead. How could this possibly _exist_?


	2. Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaladin: Lonely Boy™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

The longer Kaladin was here, the less this place seemed to change. 

It wasn’t just that the things he did to the world around him would evaporate the second he turned away. The environment was static, unchanging. The sun didn’t move in the sky, and so Kaladin couldn’t keep track of time. He had no idea how long he had spent in this godforsaken place. The cold bit into his fingers like tiny knives. 

He had tried to see down from the cliff’s peak towards the cloud layers that obscured his vision lower down, but those clouds made it impossible to see through. There was no evidence of life. Not cremlings, nor animals, not even spren. No windspren, despite this biting wind. No cloudspren, though in clouds like that Kaladin was almost shocked that there weren’t any. And Syl still hadn’t appeared. 

Kaladin was, to put it lightly, _not happy_.

He paced the edge of the cliff for what felt like hours and could have just been minutes, thinking about the strange encounter he had had with Alaris. What was that? The longer Kaladin thought about it, the more he doubted that it had ever even really happened. 

_What is this? Storms, where am I?_

It was not the first time he had wondered that.

He was caged. Anxious. _Frustrated_. Storms, he felt like he could barely even think straight. 

It didn’t help that he could feel the same pain as before, back from in the Tributary. It was less, almost like a phantom echo, but he could still feel it if he thought about it. 

He couldn’t _not_ think about it. There wasn’t enough to _do_.

He glared at the cliff face, and the ever-so-slightly less sheer drop to his other side, and then considered climbing down and trying to get below the cloud layer. He didn’t have anything better to do, so he grabbed at the edge of the cliff and tried to climb down where he could see a handhold.

His feet couldn’t gain any purchase. The rock was slick with ice, and the sharper cold was agony on his bare toes. He gritted his teeth and kept trying. 

Finally, he managed to stick his feet into a crack and make sure they would _stay_ , and then he dropped a little bit lower. He caught onto a handhold, slippery with ice—his fingers slipped—he only managed to catch himself by luck. No, going down wasn’t an option. It was too dangerous.

His head spun, and then he suddenly blacked out.

He came back to himself on the edge of the cliff, exactly where he had been the first time. He wasn’t hungry, but he did have a faint headache. And he was dizzy.

Going down the mountain wasn’t an option. And there was nowhere else to go.

Storms. Storms, this was terrible. 

He cast about for something to do, frantically just looking around for _something_. There was a rock stuck in the ground that he prised up with his cold fingers and threw over the edge, falling until it hit the cloud layer and vanishing. Almost a full thirty seconds later, he heard it clatter on some kind of rock. That was a long drop.

When he blinked and looked down again, the rock was back. Of course it was. 

_What’s happening to Bridge Four? Where is Syl?_

He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. His thoughts were unpleasant. 

He started singing to himself, just little songs from his past, anything he could do to get rid of the _storming_ sound of the goddamn storming wind. Then he moved onto other things. He spoke all of his friends’ names, the bridgemen he’d saved and the ones he’d lost and the people from Amaram’s army and from Hearthstone, everyone he could think of. He started speaking _all_ of his thoughts aloud. 

It was better than the alternative. This was the only way he could think of to stay sane.

He could feel himself getting hollower and hollower, deep inside. Feeling hopeless and cold. The wretch, ever so slowly, was overtaking him with this storming inevitable situation.

He couldn’t win. The only hope he had was to somehow outlast it.

* * *

He stared out into the expanse of clouds and rock peaks. In the corner of his eye, he thought—was that something moving?

He looked again.

It wasn’t.

* * *

Time passed, as time is wont to do. Kaladin had no idea how much of it had passed, but it was enough that he was feeling the strain. 

And then he fell into himself, the world swirling up and out around him, and out of the damn icy place entirely.

* * *

Agony. Pure agony. Kaladin couldn’t breathe. It was just as bad as he remembered. No—it was _worse_ than he remembered. Like liquid fire poured into his veins. 

Anything was better than that cold numbness, though.

This time, Kaladin could move, and he jerked in place trying to free himself from wherever the hell he was. The Tributary, Alaris or the hallucination-that-Alaris-may-have-been had called it. He twisted and jerked, trying to get out of the grip of the Tributary. The pain just increased with every movement he made.

It took him longer than he was proud to admit to even comprehend that there was noise ringing around him, and even longer than that to realize that he was the one screaming. It barely even sounded like noise to his ears.

It was an exertion of will and stubbornness that made Kaladin finally stop shrieking and moving around. Neither were helping him, and it would only make things worse if he hurt his throat or made this storming torture hurt _more_.

Instead, he slowly looked _down._

Thin black shards, like tiny, triangular needles, protruded from every part of his body. Some _moved_ , dragging through his flesh; others did not. Thicker, darker ones went through his joints as though they were _nailing him in place_. A glow, like stormlight, rose in wispy lights from the wounds and were wicked away by the insanely sharp needles. 

_I should be dead. This amount of damage to my body has to have been fatal_. 

His body was coated in blood. Not just fresh blood; flakes of dried, black blood ran down his body in streams and stained his clothing. There was a lot of it. Kaladin was suddenly very, very concerned as to how much blood he had left.

Storms, where _was_ he? 

Lirin’s voice in his head forced him to take stock of himself. To ground himself in what he knew. 

He couldn’t even tell if he was saying it out loud or not.

_Severe disorientation, from shock and blood loss. Heat the patient, close the wounds, administer water and bed rest. Lacerations in the skin of unknown death and severity. Stitches would likely be required, and antiseptic should be applied. Puncture wounds along all major arteries in the arms and legs. Clean the wound with an antiseptic, and bandage the wounds. Closely monitor for infection. Headache, chapped lips and sore throat, likely caused by severe dehydration. Patient should drink one cup of water every fifteen minutes. I have stormlight leaking from every wound, but they’re not healing, and I don’t know how much light I’ll have left._

_I don’t think I can escape._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you notice anything that seems ooc, please, PLEASE tell me. I need to reread Way of Kings, because i really don't have a great handle on Kaladin at all.


	3. Redestruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see our favorite currently-lonely-and-trapped spearman stop being quite so lonely and trapped. possibly. maybe. maybe not. who knows? 
> 
> guess you'll have to read and find out

Kaladin woke from the still mountain world into the Tributary three times, and nothing changed. He still couldn’t find a way to keep track of the time, but he had started to keep track of the times he’d fallen asleep; by that count, it had been almost a hundred days. A hundred days trapped in this storming frozen dok’en, while Bridge Four was left without him in a strange Brightlord’s camp. He’d taken to thinking aloud, just to break the howling empty wind’s hold over him. 

Syl still hadn’t returned.

* * *

“Cyr!” a voice yelled. Kaladin scarcely recognized it at first. 

“Alaris?”

“ _Thank El_ ,” Alaris breathed, taking his offered hand and pulling himself up the cliff. “You haven’t forgotten me again. Meldier and I are going to break you out.”

“Who did you say?” 

“Meldier. A little rougher around the edges, now, but he’s finally out, and and thinks he might know how to de-activate the Tributary.”

“I don’t know who your 'Meldier' is,” Kaladin said, “but he’s got a Brightlord’s name.”

“A what?”

“Meldier, is he a Brightlord?”

Alaris blinked. Kaladin got the impression the man was shaken to his core, and this was his way of dealing with it. “Cyr, you’re not making any sense. What’s a Brightlord?”

“Opposite of a darkeyes, obviously. Like Sadeas. Like Amaram. That.”

Alaris shook his head. “Cyr…”

“What?”

“You’re not making any sense,” Alaris said, and changed the subject. “Meldier says that being awakened is painful, but less than the Shift. Please, be prepared. We’re going to try to trigger the opening sequence with Tal’s keys in a few minutes, but if that doesn’t work, we’ll have to…” He trailed off, looking down. “Sorry. You’re probably very confused right now. Cyr, once we get back to Ilshan Gathdel Tir, promise me you’ll let Diarys try to heal your mind.”

“I…sure. I don’t know what you mean, but I guess…just get me out of here.”

“Be ready,” Alaris said, and jumped off the cliff.

Kaladin was alone once more, but not for long.

* * *

He came back to himself panting with pain, but not screaming, thank the Almighty. Alaris, looking exactly like he had in the strange dreamworld, stood just outside the pane of dull glass, frantically gesturing at someone outside his field of view. The mysterious 'Meldier,' then. Alaris visibly looked defeated. _It wasn’t a good fit for someone with a face like that_ , Kaladin thought, and—not for the first time—wished that Syl was here with her running commentary on everything. 

Alaris raised his hand, palm outstretched, towards the Tributary again. 

He stood there. 

Nothing happened. 

Alaris turned, angrily, and pulled someone towards where Kaladin could see. This was a hard-looking man with long curly hair, a swordsman’s figure, and darker eyes than Kaladin had ever seen in his life. This man raised a thick steel sabre and rammed it with what Kaladin could see was a _lot_ of force directly at the pane of glass. 

It shattered. That is, the _sword_ did. The glass didn’t even _crack_. 

The swordsman nodded to himself, or possibly to Alaris. And then the two of them simultaneously lifted their hands in the air again. 

This time, it wasn’t an empty gesture. Blue-white stormlight leaked from their palms as they both did…something. Gathered it around their hands and wrists. And then, on what could, maybe, have been a count of three, they _launched_ the light at the Tributary. 

The machine bent and broke under the impact. There was only one minor problem: Kaladin was still inside it. 

The last thing he knew, half of the metal of the Tributary was crushing his chest, the needles sliding impossibly further in as the plate they protruded from crumpled like paper. And then the world went blessedly, thankfully, _painlessly_ black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it gets better i _swear_


	4. Awaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who the fuck does Meldier think he is?  
> Ancient and powerful, apparently...

Kaladin awoke, warm, to a marked lack of pain. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?” he croaked, trying not to open his eyes. Trying not to dispel whatever this was.

“What is?” someone asked from directly behind him.

Kaladin snapped awake, eyes flicking open to reveal…apparently, searing, all-encompassing whiteness. He shot bolt upright, old habits taking over despite his disorientation, and he scrabbled for a knife at his belt before reality overtook him. He took a deep breath, and turned around as his vision started to adjust to the sudden, intense bright white light. It almost looked like the incredibly intense white light of Lirin’s ball of diamond broams. The swordsman from the last memory Kaladin had of the Tributary gazed evenly back at him from inside a stone room that looked to have been made with a fabrial. White stormlight pulsed through the walls, and bright sunlight streamed in through an open window, silhouetting the man’s muscular figure and making him hard to look at.

“Cyr, please calm down,” he said. “I know what Alaris told me. I am Meldier. This is Ilshan Gathdel Tir. You are safe now.”

“Shouldn’t I be dead?” Kaladin asked bluntly.

Meldier blinked. “ _No._ Why would you be _dead?_ ”

Kaladin ran down the List. “Blood loss. Dehydration. Tons of lacerations all over. Oh, yeah, and I had my _storming ribs crushed in_ ,” he said. “Because _that’s_ always an easy thing to bounce back from.”

Meldier looked away, suddenly seeming helpless. “Do you…know how old you are?” he asked tentatively.

“Does it matter?”

Meldier sighed. “Yes, it matters.”

“Twenty,” he said curtly.

Meldier did look up, now—shock clear on his face—and leaned forwards to meet Kaladin’s gaze with his own night-black eyes. “Cyr,” he said solemnly; Kaladin had to admit he sounded sincere, “you have lived for over three thousand years.”

Kaladin waited for the punchline, but Meldier seemed genuine. And, as Kaladin continued to not respond, increasingly worried. “You’re not serious.”

Meldier took a deep breath, uncertainty suddenly flashing across his features. “You call yourself Kaladin?” he asked.

“I do.”

“Will you tell me about yourself?” Meldier asked. “I would like to get to know who you have become.”

“I would prefer not to.”

“Will you answer questions, though?” Meldier pressed. “A truth for a truth.”

Kaladin considered. He didn’t know anything about this man, but the fact that he—a darkeyes—was a swordsman was strange in and of itself. He didn’t quite look Alethi, but his accent was similar to Kaladin’s own. He didn’t know where he was, or what year. And the man, he recalled, could use stormlight. There was only one way to go, Kaladin realized. “I’ll answer your questions. But if I don’t want to, I don’t have to,” he added quickly.

Meldier nodded. “Fair enough. What are those scars on your forehead?”

Kaladin hesitated. “…they’re slave brands. Sas, nahn and shash. You didn’t recognize them?”

Meldier shook his head. “They’re not any language I recognize. Ask me a question.” 

“What country are we in?” “We’re currently in Talan Gol, that’s what they’re calling it. Right now, this place, it’s called Ilshan Gathdel Tir. It’s a sort of fortress,” he explained. “You had another life. Did you have a family?”

“Yes.” Kaladin didn’t elaborate. “Are you a brightlord? You use a sword, but your eyes are dark.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Meldier said.

“Like…a man who commands other men. A brightlord.”

“Brightlord refers to the eyes? Which must be light?”

“Yes.”

“I am, I guess, a Brightlord, then. My title is Lord Meldier. I’m usually in Ilshan Gathdel Teth, but, well…all of us are here because of you,” he said. “What was your family like?”

Of course. Right for the jugular. “Ask another question.”

“Right,” Meldier said, looking concerned. “What has your life been like, lately? Before you were, well,” Meldier grimaced, “in the tributary.”

 _What, a slave of Sadeas’s army?_ Kaladin fought the urge to scowl. “Another question.”

Meldier pursed his lips, looking pained. “Did you have any friends? Anything?”

“Yes,” Kaladin didn’t want to deflect any further, but there was exactly no way in hell he was going to bring up the bridgemen to this dark-eyed lighteyes. “An honorspren. Her name was Syl.”

“A…what, exactly?”

“I thought she was a windspren at first, but as time went on…” Kaladin started to explain, but trailed off when he saw the blank look on Meldier’s face.

“You have to have a spren, at least. I’ve seen you use stormlight.”

“Use what? What in El’s name is a stormlight? Or a spren? Cyr—”

“Kaladin.”

“ _Cyr_ , you’re going to have to explain this.”

“My name,” Kaladin said firmly, “is Kaladin.”

Meldier rubbed at his temples, exasperated. “Fates, man. Your name has been Cyr for near three thousand years. Don’t tell me you’ve pulled a Devaed on us, Cyr. Even if Alaris thinks that must be the reason, I knew you. You would never abandon us to our slavery as _he_ wishes to.”

“This ‘Devaed,’ he tried to sell _you_ into slavery? A _brightlord_?”

“Shammaeloth made us slaves to his whim as soon as we entered this world,” Meldier said. He sounded tired. “Devaed—Tal’kamar—he simply wishes to keep us that way. What the hell is a stormlight?”

“…do you not have highstorms, here?”

“Well, we have storms, and some of them are higher than others,” Meldier said, in an attempt at levity. “I imagine you mean something different, though.”

“Well, yeah. You don’t have the massive storms, lightning and thunder, blow in from west to east, massively destructive, infuses the stormlight into your dun spheres…”

“‘Dun spheres’. Can you elaborate?”

“You don’t have _spheres?_ ”

“Of course we have spheres,” Meldier said. “But what, pray tell, is a ‘dun sphere?’”

“It’s just—not infused, I guess. With stormlight.”

“Right,” Meldier said, though he didn’t seem to understand it any better than he already had. “But, ah, are they like Essence lights? What are these spheres _for?_ ”

Kaladin choked. “You don’t have—how do you _possibly_ have a country—uh, spheres can be exchanged for goods and services,” he said. “Currency. They’re currency. You don’t have _any_ spheres _at all?_ ”

“We have money, sure. Made of metal. Which doesn’t ever glow, no matter how much Essence you channel into it. What are your ‘spheres’ made out of, normally?”

“Chips of gem in glass, usually topaz or sapphire broams,” Kaladin answered on autopilot. _No highstorms? No spheres? What the hell…_

“Right. We don’t have that.”

Kaladin thought of another thing. “Then were _do_ you draw your stormlight from?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I still haven’t a clue what you’re even trying to refer to, let alone how to use it—”

“I _saw_ you, when you broke me out of the torture box. Using stormlight. How did you—”

“ _Essence_? You mean Essence? I get it from my Reserve, Cyr.”

“Is that what you used to heal me?”

“I used Essence to heal you, yes.”

“So you have a stockpile of stormlight kept somewhere. Can you let me have some? Teach me how to use it?”

Meldier blinked. “You have a Reserve, too. Everyone has a Reserve. It’s not like a bunch of your spheres, or a collection of Vessels.”

Kaladin _looked_ at him. “Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where is my Reserve?”

Meldier blinked. “It’s inside you, of course.” Then, the swordsman closed his eyes, slowly. He opened them. “You don’t know how to sense your own Reserve.”

“I don’t know what a Reserve _is_ ,” Kaladin said.

“You—it’s a lot of Essence, inside you, it keeps you alive. You call it stormlight, I think. Do you know how to use it, once you _have_ it?”

Kaladin nodded. “How do I…get it, though?”

Meldier shrugged. “You draw it out of your Reserve. I’m not sure how to explain it, to be honest. Maybe Isiliar will be able to help you. My question, now: what did your family do?”

Kaladin wavered. “I…they…my father was a surgeon. My mother helped. I was learning, and my brother…” He trailed off.

“Your brother,” Meldier pressed. Curious, but still cautious.

“My brother was learning to be a carpenter. Who is Isiliar?” he asked, changing the subject as rapidly as he could. Meldier gave Kaladin another _look_ , like he was trying to read into his soul, but he went along with it. “She’s another one of us. Immortal, and she also suffered one of the Tributaries. But…”

“But what?”

“Tal’kamar did her wrong. She’s a lot to get used to, now, but she’s getting better. I know she is.”

 _Right. That’s not cryptic at all_ , Kaladin thought.

“It’s not _that_ cryptic,” Meldier scoffed, and Kaladin realized he’d said it out loud. Again.

Meldier appeared to be holding a straight face solely by an extreme exertion of will. “Yes, you did.”

Kaladin swore. “I want my spren to come back.”

Meldier looked nonplussed. “Your what?”

“Syl. My spren. She’s an honorspren. We were—friends, I think.”

“I…Cyr, I don’t know what that _means_ ,” Meldier said. He sounded exasperated. “An honorspren? What even is a spren? Is it like one of the darklanders?”

“What the hell is a darklander?”

“Guess not, then. “

“No, a spren is…it’s like a spirit. Of a thing. So rotspren on rot, and windspren in wind, and gloryspren when things are good, and fearspren when they aren’t, and painspren and windspren and firespren, they all…exist in the things they come from,” Kaladin tried to explain, gesturing wildly with his arms. “They’re _spren_. They’re just, what they are.”

“So your Syl existed when you were being honorable?”

“Not…really,” Kaladin said. “That doesn’t sound right. When I first met her, I wasn’t anything to speak of. A slave, angry, ready to…I’m saying this out loud.”

“You’re saying it out loud, yes.”

“Stormfather, why can’t I keep my thoughts inside my own head?”

Meldier shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m going to have to leave, soon—I have obligations—but I think you just need to spend more time around us. I’m happy to be that person.”

They talked until night fell.

* * *

 

Kaladin awoke the next day feeling more well-rested, and more confused, than he’d felt since before he appeared into the Tributary. He was still in the same room as before, but this morning there was not yet light. He glanced at the room, taking it all in now that he had the time.

The walls were smooth, black stone. Cut perfectly, it looked like it could have been made with a fabrial, as long as this world wasn’t as _utterly weird_ as it sounded. A simple wooden chair sat in the corner, where Meldier had been sitting yesterday. It was next to a dresser of some kind, and a chest of drawers. Someone had left him a tunic and some pants atop its face. A pair of boots lay on the ground near it. There didn’t seem to be a closet anywhere, but there also didn’t seem to need to be. A squat nightstand, a glass of water sitting atop it, sat near the headboard of the bed that Kaladin was lying in, but he wasn’t thirsty. The room was lit from several points by what looked like glowing gems or planes of glass. It couldn’t have been stormlight that was set into the walls, as they didn’t seem to have it, but Kaladin couldn’t guess what it was. Essence, maybe, like Meldier had been talking about yesterday? Kaladin didn’t know, or care, so long as he learned how to use it.

And maybe got his hands on a spear or something. He was incredibly tense. This wasn’t a fun thing. He didn’t like it. 

Antsy with anticipation, Kaladin pushed back the covers and stood up, stretching. It was early, but not so early that he didn’t want to be awake. He’d gotten a good night’s sleep, and now he needed answers. _Deserved_ answers. And he was going to seek them out until he found someone who could give them to him.

He glanced around out of habit, but that was more cursory than anything, by now. Syl wasn’t here. He should realize that; his habit of looking for her in the corner of his eye or wherever he expected her to be was just hurting him in the long run. She didn’t seem to be here. 

He strode to the door, opened it and stepped outside. No one was around, but the hot wind felt sharper against his body than Kaladin had expected.

Kaladin looked down. 

He was entirely naked.

He very carefully stepped back into the room and shut the door. Dresser. There was clothing on the dresser. He stepped into the extraordinarily fine, doubtlessly expensive set of tunic and pants and tried to tie the shirt up while simultaneously slipping on the shoes. He half-managed at both. _It’s been a long time since I’ve had something like this to put on,_ he thought, and then realized that he’d said it aloud. “Storms.”

That done, Kaladin yawned, cracked his knuckles, downed the glass of water, and went to go track down some of these people that Meldier had spoken of. 

_Isiliar. Tal’kamar. Gassandrid._

He stepped outside his room again, and then paused, hesitating. Where did he go from here? This wasn’t somewhere Kaladin knew. He’d never been to this place. It was literally a fortress he’d never been to in the middle of nowhere, and Kaladin didn’t know the first thing about it.

He grinned fiercely. Finally, somewhere he could properly have a look around.

 

The sun was starting to break over the plains in the distance when Kaladin finally found somewhere with food. A group of servants gathered in a kitchen that looked to feed the entire fortress, or possibly only the nobles. In any case, Kaladin was hungry. 

A servant, short and pretty, with long black hair, waved him over when she saw him watching them come and go. “Do you need something, sir?” she asked. 

“My name is Kaladin,” he said. She seemed curious, but also a bit worried. He was wearing unusually fine clothing; she may have taken him for a lord of some kind. “I would like a piece of bread, if you can spare it.”

“Of course,” she said, hurrying to obey. 

“Right,” Kaladin muttered. “Of course.”

It was weird. Kaladin was used to being laughed at or scorned, and people here were being actively deferential. _Amazing what a difference in clothing can do_ , Kaladin mused.

And then: That wasn’t out loud! 

He forced back a laugh of triumph and made himself back into an image of boredom and vague exhaustion as the girl came back with a slice of bread and jam. “Thank you,” he said.

“What’s your name?”

“Elissa, sir,” she said. 

“I appreciate it, Elissa,” he said. “Do you know where Isiliar is?”

Elissa’s eyes widened. “You’re looking for _Lady Isiliar?_ ”

“Yeah. Why?”

“She’s crazy, sir,” Elissa said. “And I mean… _crazy_ crazy.” She brought her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard she’s only alive because Lord Alaris wants to know something from her, but she’s a real menace. Really scary, and _unpredictable_. I tell you, I warned everyone to get out of her way the second she showed up around here. If I were in charge, she wouldn’t even be here. You have to be _careful_ , sir.”

“Right,” Kaladin couldn’t stop himself from saying, “and here I was, about to just give her a spear and just bare my neck so she could kill me.” Elissa looked down, flushing, and he continued hastily. “I appreciate the warning, but I already _knew_ she was dangerous. Although Meldier wasn’t exactly clear about that…”

Elissa blinked. “You know Lord Meldier?”

“For a day, yeah,” Kaladin said. “Why—?”

“Isn’t he so hot?” Elissa blurted. “If I had a man who looked like that…”

Kaladin shrugged. “He is pretty easy on the eyes.”

She nodded, grinning, “Wait here, I’m going to get you a little more to eat.”

It was now that he realized he’d consumed all of the bread. “That’s not necessary,” he said as she ran off. It looked like it was going to be a long day, though, and so he settled in to wait for her to return.


	5. Lady Isiliar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's too storming early for this.

Elissa, who Kaladin soon learned was a cousin to a soldier named Mash'an (and possibly a very important person) and who was only a serving girl to get a foot in in the running of the things before she could try to apply for position of head cook in the kitchens of a different citadel. She, handing him another piece of bread, told Kaldin about the ilshara. So far as he could tell, it was bad news. He resolved to ask Meldier about it. She smiled agreeably, and he realized he must have been thinking out loud again. 

And that led to another thing. Meldier...Elissa had a fascination with the man. Considering she'd probably never even spoken to him, she seemed like she knew (or thought she knew) everything about him. And then there was this. 

"That ass, you know?" she said, licking jelly off of her finger. "Have you seen it? It's so...muscular. And round. He's got a butt you could really grab, you know?"

Kaladin nodded, hoping she would stop. _Why is she talking about...that...with me, of all people?_

"And I mean," she added, smirking, "he seems like he could certainly handle a sword, if you get what I mean."

Kaladin couldn't hold back a nervous laugh. This was such an awkward conversation. Why was this happening? "You mean..."

"What else would I possibly mean? Here, have another slice of toast."

Kaladin took the piece of bread. "Thanks."

"So," Elissa said, grinning, "do you know what kind of food Lord Meldier likes?"

"I have only known him for one day."

"But do you know? Can you tell me?"

"No, I can't. Because I don't. I don't actually know him well," Kaladin said. 

"Oh." Her face fell. "You said you needed to find Lady Isiliar?"

"Yes." _Finally._

She glanced at him strangely, and he realized he'd said it out loud. Storms. 

"Wait here," she ordered, scurrying back to the kitchen. Kaladin was okay with that. Kaladin wasn't having fun. This was a stressful day, on top of a lot of stressful days, and he was, well. Stressed. And he didn't need to be thinking about his savior's butt, on top of that. Elissa was...nice, he supposed, but he didn't need to be having this conversation. He had things he needed to be doing, and sitting around gossiping like old women about Lord Meldier this and Lord Meldier that sure wasn't it. 

Elissa returned without the jar of jelly, but with a small package wrapped in cloth. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Follow me."

The cloth turned out to have a small square of what looked like meat wrapped in dough. He figured it was mean to be lunch, or something. "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it."

Elissa led Kaladin down a winding warren of tunnels, and up a flight of stairs, and to a door of an unmarked room someplace near the top of the tower. "Good luck."

"Thanks," he said again.

She left, and Kaladin knocked on the door.

* * *

The door swung open on its own almost immediately. "Who's there?" a female voice asked suspiciously, but Kaladin couldn't see who said it. 

"Kal—uh, Cyr. I'm Cyr," Kaladin said. "You're Lady Isiliar?"

"I am," she said, "I am. And yet, I am not. Alaris told me about you. You are Cyr, but you are not. And not like me, either."

 _What?_ thought Kaladin, and then realized he said it out loud. 

"Come inside," she said, and he did. 

Inside the room he found a slender red-haired woman, probably about his age. Her clothes were also finely made, although Kaladin didn't recognize the cut of them—similar to the tunic he was wearing, in fact—and she looked carefully put together. Despite that, she seemed...strange. Off, ever so slightly. Her eyes tracked Kaladin around the room like a wounded axehound's.

And the room, while certainly not a disaster, was far from comforting either. The bed was made, and the room was orderly, except for the parts that weren't. From one half of the room, splinters of shattered wood were piled in one corner, and sparkling shards of broken glass trailed from there to the center. There was no table. Kaladin thought that the damaged pieces must have fulfilled that function, once. It must have taken incredible force to break like that. 

Kaladin suddenly very much did not want to be alone in a room with this woman. 

"So, uh...Meldier said something about you being able to teach me how to find a Reserve?" he said carefully.

"Meldier wants me to teach you how to use Essence?" she asked, sounding almost surprised. "Me? _Me?_ Of all the people, me?"

"Uh...yes."

She didn't respond for a long minute. Just as Kaladin was starting to get a bit uncomfortable, she suddenly snapped up, motions jerky, and walked over toward him. "Do you know how to sense Essence?"

Kaladin fought the urge to shrink away from her. "No."

She nodded quickly, glancing up and down at him. "You should be able to. You should. You glow with it."

 _And that was a lot of interminable nonsense,_ he thought. He might have said it aloud. She didn't respond, so he thought he'd managed to keep it in his head this time.

Someone else knocked on the door. Kaladin turned. Isiliar didn't. Her eyes seemed glassy.

"...Hello?" Kaladin asked, when it became clear that Isiliar wouldn't. 

"Cyr?" asked someone. Kaladin thought it was Alaris. 

"Kaladin," corrected Isiliar. Kaladin didn't know how she knew his name. He took a half-step back before he realized it. _Don't let them know you're afraid._

"There's no reason to be afraid, Kaladin," said Alaris. Great. He'd said it out loud again. 

Alaris strode into the room, quickly taking over the situation. "Isiliar, Kaladin, it's fairly early. You must be hungry. Come with me, and we'll eat."

Kaladin started to follow him, but Isiliar grabbed his hand. "He doesn't know how to use Essence," she said. "Not sense it, not use it. Meldier wants me to teach him. Me, to _teach!_ I have much to do. So much to do. And to teach as well...but this world makes strange things of all of us," she trailed off ominously. Kaladin wanted this whole day to be over. It was far too early for this. 

Alaris simply nodded. "We are all certainly busy, and there is much to be done if we want to stop Tal'kamar. But it might do you good," he said softly. "To teach someone, instead of simply fighting. This has been hard on you."

Isiliar scowled. "He still must be stopped."

"I wasn't saying he didn't."

Kaladin was having a hard time following the conversation. 

"You think I should stop trying to gain my justice. Stop trying to do what is necessary. You think that I should, instead, teach this Kaladin, teach Cyr, how to use the Essence he once had so mastered! We have so much we must do. I have so much I must do. He must be stopped. We haven't got the _time, Alaris!_ " 

Alaris stopped walking. "We have enough time, Is," he said, still in that soft voice. "Don't let him drive you to break down. There will be time before he comes."

She let go of Kaladin's hand, but he didn't see why. He took a step towards Alaris and the hallway. He could hear her following from behind him. _Great._

"Alaris," she muttered. "Alaris, Alaris, Alaris. Do you really think we can stop him?"

"We have to try."

Kaladin closed his eyes. "Will someone please just tell me what's going on?" he asked.

"We will," Alaris said. "I swear, we'll do our best. But please, let it wait until later. There is much to discuss, and much that you need to understand."

Kaladin sighed. "Later, then. But you have to tell me, at least at some point."

"Of course."

And...then there was another thing. He still wanted a spear.

"Why do you want a spear?"

And...he'd said it out loud. Storming great. 

"To practice with," Kaladin explained. "I was a spearman, before. It helps me relax."

Alaris nodded. "A spearman? Not a swordsman?"

"Not a swordsman," he agreed. "I'm not a lighteyes. Uh, you probably don't understand that. Before, where I was, the lighteyes—" 

Alaris nodded again, holding up a hand. "Meldier told me about the caste system that you had in Alethkar. But swords are not restricted to the upper class, here, even if they are expensive. But we will get you your spear, Cyr," he said. 

"Kaladin."

"Right. We will get you your spear, Kaladin."


	6. Lord Gassandrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stormfather, Kaladin needs a _drink_

Kaladin was _not happy_. 

The sun had barely even begun breaking over the horizon of the dead, cracked desert land outside the windows by the time that he, Isiliar and Alaris made it to a small dining hall. It was already inhabited by what looked like a fairly large group of people, all sitting in an eerie silence, eerily still. The entire scene was just eerie, like a painting that had been brought to life, but without any of the hallmarks that make it feel _alive_. 

Kaladin was getting a bad feeling about all of this. 

“Good morning, Gassandrid,” Alaris addressed the entire room. _What? Which one is Gassandrid?_ Instead of, like Kaladin expected, one individual turning around, the entire room swiveled as one. 

Kaladin’s heart dropped to the ground, through the floor, and perished in the magma heart of the planet. 

Each figure was a _storming animated corpse._

He took an unconscious step away from the well-lit room, breath suddenly coming fast. This was so wrong. Storms, this was _so_ wrong. 

“Is that Cyr?” asked one of the corpses in a bone-dry voice. “It has been a long time.”

“Yep,” Alaris said. “We finally found him.”

“Wonderful,” croaked another corpse. And then, across the room, another one opened its mouth: “Has he come back to himself, or is he still another?”

“Another,” assured Alaris. “He calls himself Kaladin.”

Kaladin himself was trying very hard not to cower under the combined gazes of twelve or thirteen _walking, talking literal dead people_. He repeated this morning’s mantra to himself silently. _Don’t let them know you’re afraid, don’t let them know you’re afraid…_

He turned and looked at Isiliar, still behind him. “What in damnation is going on?” he hissed. “Those are dead people! Talking!”

She smirked. “Dead people, talking. Yes, they are. They are. That’s Gassandrid.”

“But what does that _mean?_ ” Kaladin asked, insistent. “It’s Gassandrid, which is a bunch of dead people. Talking. They’re dead. Why are they alive?”

“They are Gassandrid,” she said again. “That’s what Gassandrid did. To escape Tal, that’s what they did.” She spat Tal’s name as though it were a curse. From what Kaladin was hearing about the man, it might as well have been. “He has made us into monsters, just like he is,” she continued softly. “To defeat him, we have become monsters.”

Kaladin shuddered. “But you’re not…that.” He gestured at the room of desiccating bodies.

“No,” she agreed, although her tone was filled with a sort of existential horror, or some devastation that he couldn’t understand. “I am far worse.”

“Cyr, Isiliar,” said a corpse. Kaladin thought it was the first one that had spoken, if his memory held true. “Come and eat something. The cooks prepared some sort of breakfast pie.”

This was so strange. Stormfather, this was so strange. The others were acting as though it were normal, though he thought it might have disturbed Isiliar slightly. This was…he didn’t like this, not at all. And he didn’t want to be here. He very much didn’t want to set one foot into that room. Never. _Storms, I wish Syl were here,_ he thought. He managed to keep it inside his head this time. 

“Yeah,” Alaris said. “Cyr—er, Kaladin, come sit down. We need to introduce you to Gassandrid.”

“The _dead people_?” Kaladin exclaimed. Storms, this would go over great.

Alaris nodded. “Yes. The dead people. Gassandrid?”

“You were in a Tributary,” said one of the corpses, that of a young girl. Kaladin figured that when she died, she could only have been about eight or nine. The thought sent the horror coursing through his bones a fresh jolt of strength. “Isiliar was in a Tributary. Diarys was in a Tributary. Meldier was in a Tributary. I was not.”

Another corpse suddenly took up the conversation. “We saw the future, before Tal came to lead us to a Tributary. We didn’t know it was him, but we knew it would happen if we stayed as one.”

The child’s corpse took back over. “So we split ourself into pieces. Possessed the bodies of the dead, and scattered ourselves to stay free.”

“It’s a use of kan,” the second corpse explained. “Simply a form of Control, and an imperfect use of Essence. But you do not know what that means, do you?”

Kaladin stared. 

The corpses stared back. 

“Well?” one eventually asked. 

“I…don’t,” he said unevenly. This… _storms_. Was a literal storybook nightmare trying to _justify_ itself to Kaladin? _Storms, this is so…surreal. This entire day has been so surreal. It’s not even light out yet, and it’s already so impossible._

“It is light out,” Alaris pointed out. “The sun is coming up.”

“I said that out loud?”

“You did.”

Kaladin suppressed the urge to sigh. _Don't let them know you're afraid..._ “Do you have any sapphire vintages, here? Or maybe violet. I could use a violet.”

“What?” asked a fragment of Gassandrid.

“The strong wine. Or beer, or moonshine, at this point. I get the impression I’m going to need to be _absolutely storming sloshed_ if I want to make it though the day.”


	7. Unmaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no one is happy. never. no one is ever storming happy. why can't i write any happy shit.

Kaladin had retreated to his room as quickly as he could. 

_You’re hiding_ , he thought, or said, or something. 

“No I’m not,” he muttered. This was too much. Everything was too much. Was someone talking? He didn’t much know, or care, at this point. There were zombies. Literal, storming zombies. What next, a damned voidbringer? Kaladin didn’t sign up for this. Kaladin had such a storming headache. Storming goddamn world. What the hell. Where even the hell…Ilshan Gathdel Tir. Storming Ilshan Gathdel Tir. _I don’t want to be here._

Something bright flared at the edges of his vision. “Syl?” he said, or maybe thought. He wasn’t sure. The line between his head and the real world was…not being a line. Not dividing it. Not separating properly. That. 

Someone said something, or maybe they didn’t, but Kaladin thought he heard someone say something. Or maybe multiple people. Or maybe the storming zombie hive mind, maybe there were more than one of them in here. Kaladin didn’t pick his head off the pillow to try and see. Storms, couldn’t they tell he was trying to sleep? Couldn’t he get one second of, of, of peace and quiet? Just for storming once? 

Someone definitely laughed. Had he said that out loud? Kaladin opened his eyes. 

It was…friendly guy. Darkeyed lighteyes. The first one. Him. Whatever his name was. 

“Meldier.”

That. Yes. Him. “I’m trying to sleep,” Kaladin complained. Out loud. He thought. 

Meldier responded with words. Words. They were weird. The wrong sounds, but they…made words. That were understandable. That was a weird thing. _This isn’t Alethkar. Why are the words the same?_

Oh, yeah. And there were zombies. The words weren’t the strangest thing here. 

Someone shone a light directly through Kaladin’s eyes and into his brain. 

“Fates, something something something Cyr something. It’s something something something eleven in the morning,” Meldier said. Or Kaladin thought he said. Or he didn’t exist, because this thing, it was still the box thing, and Kaladin pretended he did exist anyway just for the hell of it, and Meldier the construct said that it was eleven, and Kaladin didn’t believe it because he was _just so storming tired, what the hell, he just wanted to go to sleep_ , he thought that he thought that he thought. 

“What?” said what may or may not have been an actual storming person. 

“Can you please…close the window? It’s very bright…” Kaladin muttered, rolling over to bury his head in the pillows.

“Something something something,” said Meldier. He reached out to grab Kaladin by the shoulder and roll him back over. 

Kaladin tried and failed to slap the swordsman’s arm away, but he missed. Probably missed. Whatever. Whatever the hell he did, it didn’t storming _work_ , because Meldier dragged him off of the thing that he was on. Not a bed. Other thing. Floor? Why was he on the floor? 

He wasn’t on the floor any more, that was for damn certain. “Storming…I want to go to sleep!” he said.

* * *

Meldier carefully pushed open the door to Cyr’s room. “Cyr? I’m going to be heading out with Isiliar for a little while—where are you?”

An unintelligible mumbling came from the floor behind Cyr’s bed, and gradually resolved itself into words. “…stormin’…zombies…is it? Can y’see? ‘M tryna sleep…cann’i ged…a secon’ of, of, of peace’n quiet? Jus’ for stormin’ once?” 

Meldier snorted, walking around to try and find his brother. “Cyr?” 

He found the man in a pile of quilts and pillows, looking as though he’d fallen off of his bed. He appeared to be doing his best attempt to melt into the floor. 

“…you…him. Firs’ guy. Wossname…”

“Meldier,” said Meldier. 

“Mm. Him. ‘M tryna…sleep.”

“I have to leave, soon,” Meldier said. “Me and Isiliar. We have to stop Tal’kamar. It’s going to be dangerous. I just wanted to tell you, and to say goodbye before we left…”

Cyr murmured something about words and tried to curl up in a ball around the bottle of whiskey in his hand. 

An almost-empty bottle of whiskey. 

It had been full only a few hours ago. 

“Fates,” Meldier said.

 _We don’t have time for this_ , he thought, crouching next to the man. He was absolutely, thoughtlessly drunk. 

“Fates,” he said again. He strode over to the window, and threw the curtains wide. “Are you able to handle this, Cyr? It’s…El take it, it’s only _eleven_ in the damn morning.” 

Cyr said something about boxes inside boxes and fake people.

“What?”

“Can y’please…close the window? Is verra bright…” Cyr groaned, apparently trying to strangle himself with a blanket. The man was really out of it.

“Did you drink that entire thing?” Meldier asked instead, rolling him back over so he could look at him. Cyr flailed awkwardly and tried to slap his hand away. Instead, Meldier adjusted his grip and hauled Cyr to a standing position. It was almost comical how disoriented he looked. As it stood, though, Meldier was concerned about him. _If he dies on us, and we have to find him…_

Cyr said something else about sleep, but Meldier ignored him. Instead, he channeled a thin trickle of Essence into his friend’s body to sober him up. 

Instead of coming back to his normal state, Cyr fell into a deep, strange sleep. Meldier tapped him on the shoulder, and then shook him, but Cyr was totally unresponsive. 

“Fates,” said Meldier.


	8. To Fall, and Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> have a goddamn dream sequence, kids.

Kaladin was getting _really storming tired_ of these storming sudden transitions. 

Meldier hauled him upright, doing…something, and Kaladin felt himself falling, down, deep into himself, and then he was here. Although, if anyone could storming tell him where here _was_ , that would be nice, because Kaladin didn’t know. 

He felt blind. The world was black, icy cold, and there was nothing to tell him where anything was. He didn’t even know if he was standing or not. The only sensation he could make out was that biting, all-consuming ice. 

And he could _think_ clearly. The whole point of drinking himself into a stupor was that he didn’t _want_ to be able to storming think clearly. But whatever Meldier had done had taken that haze away from him. 

He huddled into himself, trying to find a way to shut out this storming cold, and realized that his eyes were closed. He opened them. 

The ground stretched away from him in a radial circle of cracks and chasms, as though Kaladin had fallen on something brittle and landed with great force. Nothing had any color, but it didn’t seem dull. The distance, where the land stretched away, seemed shifting and changing; the ground almost looked like it was moving, but if Kaladin focused, it was still. There was nothing to obscure his vision, and everything stayed in disorienting sharpness, as though Kaladin could see for miles with as much clarity as though it were in the palm of his hand. The sky was black, pure black, with not even a point of light. And storms, it was _frigid._ Everything was coated in a layer of thin ice. His breath didn’t mist up in the air, but it also brought no warmth when he blew on his hands. There was no relief from the freezing, burning pain of this cold. 

And he wasn’t alone, either. Great, hulking shadowy beasts with faces like wisps of steam flickered inside the chasms, twisting unnaturally, their bodies almost canine one moment, and then humanoid the next. It was wholly disturbing. Darker-than-black birdlike things flew though the pitch-dark sky and broke apart and reformed and changed shape as though they were intangible things. Behind him, Kaladin felt more than heard more things moving around behind him. Despite their unnerving shape, he didn’t feel nervous at all. Just disoriented, and a little bit angry. _How dare the world keep playing with me like this?_

He stood there, just looking out, for a time. Not a long time, but not a short time—just…a time. 

Then, behind him, something happened. He wasn’t sure what, exactly. It felt like a rippling in the air itself, or maybe only in Kaladin’s mind. Something fundamentally changed in the balance of this place. And then: 

“Fates, I just want to go to _sleep_ ,” someone complained directly into Kaladin’s ear. 

He swiveled, taking a step back, and saw a very old thin man looking back at him. The man looked angry. Kaladin _felt_ his anger swirling in the world around him, like a sudden breath of blistering heat. 

And you know what, Kaladin was angry, too. This storming place, and this _storming_ time he’d had, and now this _storming guy_ …he was storming _done_. 

“Who are you?” demanded Kaladin. His voice felt thin against this giant world, but he was by no means quiet. The old man took a half-step away, but his voice still sounded as though his mouth were pressed against Kaladin’s ears when he spoke again. “I’m _not dead enough_ is is what I am,” he said dryly. 

“But _who_ are you?” he pressed, taking another step back. The ice was back, seeping into his burnt fingers. Everything hurt. 

“My name is Cyr,” he said. “You were supposed to be enough to replace me. Why didn’t you?”

The burning wave of heat came again, hotter this time. Kaladin thought that if he could feel himself through the overwhelming sensation, his skin would be blistered and burnt. 

The ice returned. Kaladin could barely feel his fingers.

“I don’t understand.”

The old man—Cyr—closed his eyes and blinked forwards some good ten feet or so in the space of a thought. He stretched out a hand and tapped Kaladin on his scarred forehead, right at the center of where he thought his shash brand was. “You’re not the one I thought you were.”

Kaladin batted his hand away, but his arm went straight through the old man’s. “I don’t _understand_ ,” he repeated. 

“You want to understand?” Cyr said wryly. “You want to _understand?_ Let me show you.”

And something inside the world shattered, and Kaladin shattered, and Cyr shattered, and everything fell away into nothingness and everything was broken and nothing fit and suddenly, like a flash of lightning in the dark of a highstorm, _Kaladin understood._


	9. Integration

Kaladin was awake. 

They knew they’d been asleep, somehow. And something inside of their brain was screaming in shock and horror and confusion. 

They knew a lot of things now, somehow. 

They remembered growing up in Hearthstone still, a skinny surgeon’s apprentice in a backwater town. But they also, simultaneously, remembered growing up in this world, in a small backwater town in what was now called Desriel, and growing a bit more and being a cobbler…and at the same time, they knew far more had happened. A lifetime had deposited itself in their brain. Several lifetimes, actually. Cyr was ancient. 

_They_ were ancient, now, too. Storms, this was weird. 

They opened their eyes and saw the familiar room inside the Builder-made citadel of Ilshan Gathdel Teth. This had been their room, a long time ago. No—it had been Cyr’s room. _This is so storming confusing. We can’t even keep our own name straight._

They knew that their name was Kaladin, but also that their name was Cyr; they were a twenty year old soldier, who’d just gained their freedom, but they were also a near-three-thousand-year old servant of El; they fought for the people they loved, even across lifetimes and lives, no matter who they were; they were a man out of their element, but they had just come into the world that they were most used to. The duality of their own mind was insane, and—storms, but they thought it might wind up killing them if they couldn’t find some way to keep them running parallel in their head. 

Cyr. They would go by Cyr. If only because no one knew them as Kaladin, here…but Cyr had a familiarity to it, now. A sense of coming back to somewhere they hadn’t seen in many years, but which hadn’t changed since they last left it. Like coming home. 

Fates, and _Isiliar_. They’d been so cold to her—they’d been _afraid of her_ —and yet they suddenly remembered her, and they knew what had happened to her, and now… _storms. Storms. What the hell are we going to do? None of this makes any sense._

They would have confided in Andrael, once, for Andrael had been their closest friend; but Andrael was dead. They would have talked to Wereth; Wereth was dead as well. They would be willing to confide in Gassandrid; at that thought the part of them that was still Kaladin shied away from talking to Gassandrid in absolute horror. Alaris would be unbelievably busy, and he’d always been closest to the one who’d put Cyr in the Tributary, and the part that was Kaladin didn’t trust him or want to confide in him anyway. 

That left Meldier. And that was absolutely okay with both Kaladin and Cyr. Meldier…could be trusted. Meldier had never done them any wrong that Cyr could think of, or any that Kaladin could. 

And the fact that Cyr was thinking of themself as Cyr, and Kaladin as Kaladin, was still dizzying. How could they think of themself as two people at once? How was this even possible? The more they considered it, the less confident they were. This was impossible. This…was…how. How. How was they supposed to storming handle this? Process it? Kaladin wanted to curse at Cyr. Cyr wanted to make Kaladin shut up. And both of them knew, somehow, that the real Cyr was somewhere in Kaladin’s head, or somewhere close enough to there. Asleep. Waiting for Kaladin-Cyr to screw something up and die on Andrael’s last sword. 

Cyr-that-was-Kaladin. Kaladin-that-was-Cyr. They had to meet in the middle somehow, if it killed them. 

Kaladin-Cyr pushed themself up on the bed and sat forwards. One foot on the ground, two…they were physically fine. It was solely a mental issue that was their stumbling block. And yet that made it harder to overcome. 

Diarys was supposed to heal their mind. That was an act of Essence and kan, and Cyr knew how to do it. Kaladin didn’t, but they _should have_. They knew they knew how to use Essence, and they knew they knew how to use kan, but they couldn’t sense kan and they couldn’t control Essence, or even find their own Reserve…

But they knew how. That was a start. 

Stand up. Six steps to the door. They opened it—the disorienting sense of simultaneously being lost and _home_ overwhelmed them—and stepped out. _Find Meldier._

Turn left. Go straight, down the stairs. Turn right. Go straight, down the hall. Turn right. Go down the stairs. Rinse and repeat. Storms, this place was a fates-cursed maze. 

But it was helping. They thought, at least, that it was helping. 

They were integrating. 

Another step—what was their name? They couldn’t keep thinking of themself as Kaladin-who-was-also-Cyr, or Cyr-who-was-also-Kaladin, or Kaladin-that-used-to-be-Cyr, or Cyr-that-used-to-be-Kaladin. They couldn’t put it into a timeline, because they were Kaladin at the same time as Cyr was planning to do…whatever it was. Cyr hadn’t thrown their entire life at Kaladin, simply enough that Kaladin was able to be Cyr. They had the vague impression of an ending, and too much icy cold boredom, but what they were actually _planning?_ Cyr-who-was-Kaladin, or whoever they were at this point, had no idea. 

Kaladin. Cyr. They were the same. 

Cyradin. Kalacyr. They were the same. And they had to integrate.

And they were. But it was slow, and this constant duality was driving them— _him_ —insane. 

They stumbled down another hallway, up a flight of stairs, down a passage and turned left, and somehow they knew without knowing _how_ they knew that this was where Meldier was staying. They knocked on the door. 

No one answered. 

Cyradin-Kalacyr-Kaladin-Cyr waited. 

The knock remained unanswered, and so Cyr raised a hand and knocked again. Kaladin wasn’t sure where Meldier was, but they thought that if they waited, Meldier might turn up. And so Cyr ended up sitting outside Meldier’s room. They tapped their fingers on the wall. He tapped his fingers on the floor. Kaladin wanted a spear. Cyr wanted a drink. Cyradin was bored. 

But he was integrating. 

And then: _We thought of ourselves in the singular form! Wait. I. I thought of myself in the singular form._

He said it out loud, instead of thinking it inside their— _his_ —head, but that wasn’t as important as it could have been.

It was a small victory, but it was a victory. They—no, _he_ —would take whatever he could get. They were going to integrate. He wouldn’t accept any other outcome. 

They— _he,_ el take it—he sat back and waited for Meldier to arrive. 


	10. Retrograde Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they— _he,_ dammit—want to know where the fuck meldier is
> 
> featuring: continuing integration difficulties, and meshed identities, and the inability to _keep his storming thoughts inside his fates-cursed head_ , and swears across the universes. and servants. there are more servants now.

Cyr-Kaladin waited until the sun had gone down for them— _him_ —to leave, but ultimately it became clear that Meldier wasn’t going to arrive. He left, returned to their— _his_ —room. _Where is he_?

He still wasn’t comfortable around Gassandrid, no matter how well they—Stormfather, he meant _he_ —had used to know them, but he was getting over it. He didn’t want to talk to anyone else until he had gotten a chance to talk to Meldier, though. And Meldier was still nowhere to be found. 

Finally, he got over themself— _himself_ —and tried to go hunt down the servant Elissa again. Down two hallways, a flight of stairs, make a left here and a right there, and…the underground hallway got brighter and warmer as he neared to the kitchens. A bright babble of voices raised. _This would be the end of the day_ , Cyradin realized. _They’re probably cleaning up and going home. Dinner has been served by now_. 

He broke into a light jog, hoping to catch Elissa before she left, but he was still a bit unsteady from his time in the Tributary and he tripped and fell onto the ground. One of their— _his_ —laced-up boots had come untied. That would be the cause of that, they— _he_ —muttered, and tied it back up. Scowling, he rose to his feet, and they— _he! He, the word was he_ —continued towards the kitchens at a slower, more controlled pace. 

Someone in a red hat was shoveling crusts of bread into a bag, and potato peels, and what he thought were maybe chopped bits of spoiled leafy vegetables. A cook, pot in one hand, barked orders, and probably a good twenty or so people rushed around in circles fulfilling them. At first glance, they— _he!_ —couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation, but Cyr had been a servant before, and he knew the drill. He looked closer. Elissa wasn’t there. 

Courtesy dictated that he wait until the rush to clean up was finished, and so Cyradin made himself content to wait sitting with his back to the wall in the hallway. The heat here was unbearable. It was always hot in this place, but here it was utterly sweltering, and they— _he, fates, the word is he, how long would this integration take_ —he couldn’t believe it hadn’t bothered him until now. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. _Cyr is the one who hates this_ , they thought— _he_ thought, and then realized that not only had he said it out loud, but he also put them into two separate people again. _Cyr is the part of me that hates this. The part that was Kaladin was used to it. Sadeas’s warcamp was always hotter than this_. And that was better. 

Although still aloud. But the cooks and scullery maids and such were still far too busy to notice him mumbling under their—his—storming breath, let alone actually listen to how deranged it seemed. Kaladin-Cyr tapped his fingers on the stone floor and pretended not to care about it. 

Finally, the clamor of dishes and raised voices ceased, and Cyradin pushed himself to his feet. The people who worked day shift in the kitchen were leaving, and he caught a tall blonde-haired boy on the arm as he made to leave. 

“Excuse me,” Cyradin said, “but I was looking for a girl who worked here, went by Elissa?” 

The boy stared blankly back at him. “Who are you again?”

Cyradin thought about it for a second. “Cyr,” he said, extending a hand. 

The boy nodded, although that didn’t seem to clear anything up for him. He shook hands with Cyradin. “I’m Airan.” He paused. “You said her name is Elissa, but I can think of a few people you’re talking about. Can you describe her for me?”

“Uh…yeah. A bit shorter than me, brown curly hair, had a pair of very bright green eyes, thing for M—Lord Meldier—”

“Liss? Why are you looking for her?” Suddenly Airan sounded a hell of a lot less helpful, and a hell of a lot more possessive. The boy took a threatening step forwards, looked at Cyradin’s spear-muscled arms and scarred face, and stepped back again as though he’d thought twice about it. Despite that, Airan didn’t seem inclined to calm down. _This isn’t painting a good picture of what the local nobility acts like,_ Cyradin thought, and hoped like hell he’d kept that in their— _his—_ head, because that would almost certainly not have been even a little bit helpful under the circumstances. 

“It’s nothing bad, I swear,” Cyradin insisted, trying to sound placating. They— _he,_ dammit—didn’t think it worked. “I just need to find someone else, and she’s my best guess.” 

“Who are you looking for?”

“Does it matter?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Airan half-snarled, taking a half-step forwards, before he caught himself. A look of what could have been horror crossed his face for a split second, and then was gone almost as quickly. “I—I mean, Lord Cyr, it’s just that—”

Cyradin repressed the urge to groan. “It’s just Cyr,” he said. “I really don’t mean you harm. I just need to find Meldier.”

Airan’s hackles finally went down. “This isn’t about Kor’ad?” he asked dubiously. 

“It’s not. I don’t even know who that is.”

“She’s probably in the west end. Servant’s quarters. She only works mornings.” 

“Thanks,” Cyradin said, and headed off. 

* * *

Cyradin left the main part of the Citadel for the first time he could remember and set off down a vaguely familiar side street. _West end, west end_ …there was a servant’s quarter in the west end of this city? Cyr hadn’t ever really explored it—as he traveled further into the recesses of the Citadel, he realized that Cyr hadn’t known much about it at all. It had been a temporary outpost, he realized—never somewhere the Venerate had ever planned on staying for long. Why had they gotten stopped here? He didn’t remember, or didn’t know, or the Cyr that had been Cyr hadn’t bothered to tell them— _him—_ but it probably had something to do with the mysterious Takalamar, or whatever their name was. For some reason Cyr had erased the man from his memories, and so Cyradin had no basis to put to the one who had done so much to so many of the other Venerate. But he had a goal in mind, and so he kept at. _West end, servant’s quarters. Find Elissa, find Meldier_. _Find some goddamn answers. And maybe some help._

His feet seemed to know more than he did when it came to the inside of the main stronghold, but was he got further out from the central building Cyradin found that he had to rely on Cyr’s mind-regurgitated instincts. Kaladin had never been to a city, only the warcamps on the Shattered Plains, and this was nothing like that. He took a deep breath, and kept moving amidst the throngs of people traveling to and from the various places. 

He walked into a market of some kind—people selling fresh fruit and vegetables yelled from side to side, despite the late hour—and Cyradin gave up. He was entirely lost. He sighed, took a deep breath, and went up to one of the people standing to the side of the market. 

“Excuse me, do you know how to get to the servant’s quarters on the west side?”

The man laughed incredulously. His breath stunk of alcohol, but when he spoke he sounded sober enough. “Do you _not_?”

“No, I don’t. Are you going to tell me?”

The man grinned. “Are y’gonna pay me?”

Cyradin thought about it for a second. “Yeah, sure. What’s your name?”

The man looked at him, hard. “I ain’t a fool, boy. Y’can prance around in here with your lordly clothes, but that don’t make you any smarter than the rest’ve us. You got nothing.”

_That’s not an answer,_ Cyradin noted. “I don’t have any money on me, but I know Lord Alaris, and Mel—Lord Meldier. And I could probably convince Lady Isiliar or Lord Gassandrid to lend me a few sph— _coins_ , if it came to that.”

The man looked at him again. “Are you hard of hearing, son? I ain’t stupid. Why would you know any of them? You may be rich, but there’s only so many of the Venerate. We common folks aren’t lofty enough for that.”

Cyradin nodded. “Right, right, and none of the Venerate have only recently returned from parts unknown, just like I have, right?”

The man actually laughed out loud, now. “ _You_? One of the Venerate? What the hell do you take me for?”

“Curious,” Cyradin suggested. 

The man blinked. “I…you got me there, kid. That I am. You’re gonna get your fool ass into trouble, with an attitude like that, but fates take me I hope it works out for you.”

“So will you tell me where the servant’s quarters are?”

“You’re lookin’ at ‘em,” he said, gesturing at the building directly behind him. There was nothing that really would have communicated anything outstanding about this building, but Cyradin had no choice but to believe the man. 

“Thanks.”

“No problem, kid. Steer clear of the Venerate, though. Don’t get on their bad side, and _don’t_ go around claimin’ to be one of ‘em. You’ve got a plenty bright future in the army.”

Cyradin grimaced despite themself— _himself_ , el take him—and shook his head. “Been in armies before. It never worked out all that well,” he said—both Cyr and Kaladin shared that—and had to hold back a surprised laugh at the suddenly horrified look on the man’s face. “Really, what’s your name?”

“I’m not tellin’ a Runner anythin’,” he said. “Don’ want the hammer comin’ down on my neck. I dunno who you are, kid, but you best be careful sayin’ things like that ‘round here.”

Cyradin shrugged. “I’ve—storms, I really do have friends in high places, now. I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

The other guy shrugged noncommittally. “Keep on saying that, son. You’re gonna die if you don’t take care, though. Mark my words.”

Cyradin tried to respond, but the man pushed away through the crowd of people. They— _he_ —had never even gotten the guy’s name. 

He stopped another woman with a basket of beads and fabric and just made sure that “that building right there, it’s the servant’s quarters, right? I’m new in town, and I don’t know quite where I’m going.” She said yes, so Cyradin figured no one was waiting inside to rob him or anything. 

_Finally, something’s going right today_. 

He opened the door and walked inside to see identical rows of doors, spaced out not nearly as far as he would have assumed was necessary for full apartments, but which were certainly not leading to small living quarters. Certainly they were bigger than a soldiers’ quarters, at any rate. Cyr’s memories filled in the blanks—these weren’t luxurious by any standards, but they weren’t spartan either, and a small family could comfortably fit into one of the apartments. 

That was all well and good, but that didn’t mean Cyradin had any idea of where to go if he wanted to find Elissa. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

A short, brown-haired woman was coming around the corner. And that was it. There she was. 

“…hello, Lord Kaladin,” she said, looking less than pleased. He couldn’t blame her, exactly. This was where she _lived_ , after all, and he was—so far as she knew, anyway—her boss, and not exactly a nice one at that. And behind her stood Airan. Now that they were side by side, Cyradin could swear that they were siblings. 

“Kaladin?” questioned Airan. “You told me your name was Cyr.”

Elissa glanced back at her brother, and then to Cyradin again. “What?”

Cyradin put his hands in the air placatingly. “I go by either one.”

Neither of them seemed to take this as an acceptable answer, but they didn’t run in the opposite direction, either. 

“Took you long enough to get here,” Airan said eventually. 

“I got lost.”

“You got _lost_?” Elissa asked incredulously. “It’s not like it’s a secret where the servants live.”

“I haven’t been here before,” he said tersely. “Look, Elissa, do you know where Meldier is? He…did something to my head and then vanished—”

“He and Lady Isiliar went to Seclusion,” she said, eyes wide. “They’re trying to bring down the ilshara. What did he do to you? You’re scattered. Not like yesterday at all.”

Airan squinted at him. Suddenly something seemed to click into place for him. “ _You’re_ the highborn that drank a full bottle of whiskey yesterday?”

“You drank a _full bottle of whiskey_ yesterday?” Elissa exclaimed. “That’s _dangerous_!”

“I met both Isiliar and Gassandrid for the first time yesterday,” he said. Both of them nodded in understanding. “But yeah, that was me.”

“And you said _Lord Meldier_ did something to your head? Not, maybe, the almost-deadly amount of alcohol you drank?” Airan asked. 

“It was definitely Meldier, yeah,” Cyradin insisted. “He made me sober, and then…I think slightly insane. I’m still integrating.”

“I’m not following,” Elissa said. “So Lord Meldier screwed around with your head, and now you want to find him…because?”

“I—storms, I just want to know what _happened_ ,” Cyradin said. “And there is no way in fates I’m going to Gassandrid or Alaris to ask that.” 

Airan nodded. “Right. I can understand that. But why would you trust _Lord Meldier_ , of all people, over _Lord Alaris_?”

Elissa bit back a laugh. “Because of that ass, right?”

Airan swatted her, looking almost as uncomfortable as Cyradin felt. “I _apologize_ for my sister. She _doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of decorum_ ,” he gritted out, glaring at her. She grinned back widely. 

“As I was saying,” Airan said, lightly—Cyradin was suddenly certain that the butt comment was a running joke between the two of them, “why would Lord Meldier be the one you turn to? He’s not very, uh…safe.”

Elissa and Cyradin both looked at him. “Well, you’ve heard it before, right? How on his first day back he was so inexplicably angry and ready to, well, _fight_ , he went through almost half of the people in the arena ‘to destress?’ It’s only been about a month. He’s not like Lady Isiliar, but he hurts _people_ instead of breaking things. I just—probably shouldn’t be saying this to a noble like you,” he said, as his mind seemed to catch up with his mouth. 

Cyradin shrugged. “He’s been under a lot of pressure. As have I, and Isiliar. I wouldn’t hold it against him. He’s not…normally like that.”

Elissa nodded, but Airan looked unconvinced. “Sure, sure, and I’m not normally a mass murderer, if I suddenly snap and kill everyone on night shift at the kitchen, just because I’m stressed…well, that doesn’t get us normal people off the hook for these things,” he said. “Lord Alaris always talks about how the nobles should be held to the same laws as the people, but there’s clearly a different set of standards for you people.”

Cyradin nodded. “Tell me about it. Whenever the lighteyes—er, lords—got something into their heads, there was nothing we could do to stop them when I was younger. Destroy a family, murder someone, sell someone into slavery…anything they ever _storming_ felt like. The ones who claim to be honorable lie. The fact that they’re noble is practically an admission of their guilt.”

Airan looked almost impressed. “And this, coming from a highborn man. What are you so guilty of?”

Cyradin bit back a laugh. “I’m not highborn. I was a soldier, and then slave for a year or two, and a prisoner up until three days ago. Before that, I was a surgeon. Never even been to a city before.”

Elissa blinked at him. “But you…you dress like a noble, and you know the rest of the Venerate—?”

“Chance.”

“ _Chance_?” exclaimed Airan, sudden anger coloring his tone. “Fates, you get the lucky draw of a damned lifetime, and you call it _chance_? That’s _fate_ , if I ever heard of it.”

Cyradin had to bite back a derisive snort at the idea of waking up in the Tributary being a ‘lucky draw.’ “Maybe it was luck, or fate, but it’s certainly not the good kind. I’d just won my _freedom_ , for me, and my bridgemen, and…” he trailed off. _Bridge Four. We—no, wait, I—haven’t even thought about them in days. Storms, what’s Kholin done with them while I’ve been gone?_

“Kaladin?” Elissa said lightly, tapping him on the shoulder. “Are you…alright?”

“I said that out loud?”

Both Elissa and Airan nodded. “You did,” Airan said helpfully. 

“Fates, w- _I’ve_ been trying to work on that,” Cyradin said. 

Now both of them looked rather concerned. “I’m perfectly fine,” he added quickly. “Just trying to integrate.”

“That clears it right up, thanks,” Elissa said sarcastically. “Integrate _what_?”

“Too many memories,” he said.

“Oh.”

Kaladin— _Cyradin, dammit—_ glanced back at the entranceway. The sky was pitch-black, now, except for the ring of blue light at the edge of the horizon. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I won’t keep you. Where did you say Meldier was?”

Elissa glanced at a small dial on the wall. “Late, yeah,” she said. “I heard that he and Lady Isiliar were going to Seclusion for something. Good luck finding him, and with your, er…integration,” she said. 

“Thanks,” Cyradin said. He left the hallway and walked back outside into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elissa, Airan, and their older brother you don't know yet are all jewels and i love them.  
> next up: Suffering™


	11. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meldier comes back.  
> Isiliar...does not.

Cyradin made it back before midnight, but only barely. They— _he_ — still wasn't sure how to tell the time, here, and he’d had to stop someone in the hallway and ask for the time to find out. He didn’t feel quite right bothering Alaris this late at night, but with the integration still only part of the way finished, he wanted to at least check in with _someone_ before he went to sleep. Just in case anything else decided to happen to him while he went and slept, of course. That didn’t seem like an unusual possibility at this point. 

He went on the guess, and let their— _his_ —feet guide him to where he thought that Alaris’s room would be. All the way at the top of one of the towers looking out…it was a nice view, Cyradin had to admit, even if the—

There was a bright orange orb of light hanging over a far-off part of the city. 

Somehow, he knew that that was where Seclusion was. 

He suddenly had a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Kaladin— _Cyradin_ —shook off the feeling and continued to where Alaris’s room should have been. He tentatively knocked on the door. 

“Cyr?” Something about his voice sounded strange. Strangled, a little. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Alaris?”

“That’s me,” Alaris said. “Come in?”

He did. 

The room wasn’t as large as Cyradin might have thought, but the memories they— _he_ —had of Alaris suggested this wasn’t strange at all. Alaris sat facing a window, and from what Cyradin could see of the set of the man’s shoulders he wasn’t happy about what he could see. 

Cyradin shuffled awkwardly. “Do you know where Meldier is?”

“I know where he _isn’t_ ,” Alaris said. There was no small amount of frustration in his tone, but it was clearly masking some sort of other emotion. Concern, maybe. Or pain. “He’s not _back yet_.”

Cyradin took a deep breath. “All I know is that he went to Seclusion for some reason. Do you—”

“I know why he and Isiliar are in that godforsaken place, yes,” Alaris snapped. 

“Are…you okay?” Cyradin asked carefully. Alaris was _not_ acting how they—fates, the word is _he_ —had expected him to. 

“No,” Alaris said. The man turned away from the window, hands over his face, but Cyradin could still read him like an open book. He was absolutely concerned. “I’m not. I’m not okay. I know he’d never do something like that, but…” he choked off. Cyradin started. Alaris was _crying_. 

And Cyradin didn’t even know what about. 

“What’s going on?” he asked softly. 

Alaris moved his hands away from his eyes and looked at him. “Tal’kamar has made a Gate and come to Seclusion. Meldier and Isiliar have set up a trap for him.”

_No_. _Tal…that’s the one who made the Tributaries. He was the one who created the boundary._

He didn’t say it out loud. 

“And neither of them are back yet?” he asked, fear coloring his own tone. _Even if they can’t stay dead, they can be trapped again. They can be put behind another ilshara. There are things worse than death, and Tal has done all of them to the people he called his closest friends._

Alaris looked back at the window. “No.”

“That’s not good,” Cyradin said. 

“No,” Alaris agreed. 

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Alaris said. 

They sat in silence, facing the window, until the sun broke over the horizon. 

* * *

Meldier stumbled back early that morning. His face was covered in grime and ash and dust and blood. Two clean lines—tear lines—striped his cheeks. A strange sword was strapped to his opposite hip. 

And he was alone.

“Isiliar is dead,” he said, leaning on the wall. His voice was devoid of all emotion, but his face wasn’t. Meldier was furious. “Isiliar is dead, and _he_ did it.”

“He escaped?” Alaris asked. 

Meldier smiled grimly. “No, he hasn’t.”

* * *

Cyradin forced themself—himself—to dine with Gassandrid and the rest of the Venerate that morning. Gassandrid didn’t speak. Alaris never showed up. 

He sat next to Meldier. The other man was as stiff as a board, and radiated anger. Cyradin figured it was because he would have to find Isiliar, and there was so much else they had to be doing at the same time. And because, of course, Tal had done it. That was a good reason to be angry, he supposed. 

It was the most incredibly uncomfortable atmosphere Cyradin had ever been in amongst a group of friends. He felt like he was suffocating. And fates, but he couldn’t take it.

He went and changed into normal clothing, and then he went and found Elissa and Airan in the kitchens. The two of them were peeling onions for a later meal.

He pressed his lips together, fidgeted with his hands. He still needed to get his hands on a spear. Finally, when it looked like there was a lull in the back-and-forth of the workers, he walked in beside them.

“Anything I can help with?” he asked quietly. Elissa jolted, and nearly ripped an onion in half. 

“L—Lord Kaladin?” she all but shrieked. Everyone in the kitchen turned to stare at him.

He pressed a hand to his forehead. “It’s just Kaladin,” he said quietly. 

“Right,” she said sarcastically. “And I’m just some servant you met on your first day here. Why the hell do you keep looking for me? Does this have anything to do with my brother?”

“What, Airan?”

“No. Kor’ad. Are you trying to find him? Through _me_?”

“Who?”

She narrowed her eyes, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I don’t care who in damnation you are,” she hissed, “but if you want to treat me like an idiot because I’m not as well off as you are I’m _not_ just going to roll over and play along. I’ve been nothing but perfectly decorous. _You_ keep actively searching me out. What the hell is your _problem_?”

Cyradin fought the urge to sigh. “Isiliar is dead. I was looking for some way to keep busy. By peeling onions.”

Elissa’s eyes widened. “Lady Isiliar is _what now_?”

He waved a hand. “She’ll be back eventually, I’m sure, but it’s inconvenient, and she’s going to be very unhappy about it.”

Elissa nodded, looking unconvinced. “Right, yeah. That. So why are you here, instead of helping them look for her?”

“They…aren’t, yet. She. It was late last night.”

She nodded again. “But Lord Meldier is alright?”

“Furious, yes. But alright.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” she said noncommittally, and handed him an onion. “Peel this and then put it in the basket. 

Cyradin did.

* * *

Cyradin found Meldier alone a little bit later, his entire body reeking of blood and sweat. 

“Meldier?”

“Cyr—uh, Kaladin?”

“Either one is fine,” Cyradin said.

Meldier nodded. “Has anyone explained what’s going on?”

“No.”

“Do you want to know?” Meldier suddenly seemed like a highstorm on the horizon, just waiting to crash over and into someone. Caged energy, just waiting to be unleashed and destroy whatever it could. _Lady Isiliar breaks things, but Lord Meldier hurts people_ , they—he—remembered.

“I would like to understand what in fates is going on, yes,” Cyradin said tersely. Meldier nodded. 

“Well, Tal’kamar is about as bad as it gets,” he said. “Honestly. In all honesty, he used to be one of us. We were close. And then El told him to do something, and he didn’t agree with it—you know who El is, right?”

“Yeah. The being of light, who’s trying to free us from Shammaeloth’s plans. From fate.”

“Right. Tal’kamar did it anyway, and then started getting a bit curious as to _why_ he had to do it. And then decided that, of course, he was entirely to blame, and started trying to stop us.”

“I remember that much,” Cyradin said.

“You remember it?” Meldier exclaimed. “Cyr, you’re back?”

“Not…entirely,” Cyradin said. “I only remember in fragments. I’m—not Cyr. But I have a lot of his memories. And I’ve been trying to integrate them. Slow going, but it’s going.”

Meldier looked at him. “Was this before or after you got yourself thrice-dammned drunk yesterday?”

“After,” Cyradin said. “You did something to make me sober, and instead I fell asleep. And Cyr threw a bunch of memories at me.”

“You…say that as though you and Cyr are different people,” Meldier said.

“I think we are,” Cyradin said. “Or at least…I think that I’m not the Cyr you know. I don’t know if I’m a splinter of his personality that broke off, or someone entirely different that he tried to pull into his own head—I can’t remember—but there’s me, and there’s Cyr, and I’m Cyr and me, but Cyr is just…Cyr alone. This…isn’t making any sense,” he groused. 

Meldier nodded. “Well, Tal’kamar killed Isiliar yesterday,” he said with forced lightness. The muscle jumping in his jaw belied his actual feelings on the matter. He wanted to _hurt_ Tal. “But we captured him, so he shouldn’t be able to kill anyone else. And we might be able to find the girl in the last Tributary.”

“The last _what_?” 

“Tributary,” Meldier said. “Tal’kamar forced some innocent girl to be bound to an enormous fount of Essence, and put her in a Tributary. From what we know, she’s no more than a child.”

That was…horrible. Even from what he’d heard about this storming Tal’kamar, that was horrible. Just utterly deplorable. 

“A child, in one of those… _things_?”

“Powering the entire ilshara on her own, too. She’s got to be in so much pain.”

Cyradin clenched his teeth, voice shaking with suppressed fury. “How dare he.”

Meldier glanced back at him. “You weren’t this angry about Isiliar, but an unnamed child makes you this furious?”

“She’ll come back. We always do. But some random kid—”

“El,” Meldier said softly. “El, you have no idea, do you? Tal’kamar had Licanius. Isiliar’s never coming back.”

Cyradin blinked. “ _What._ ”

“He killed her,” Meldier said. “Somehow, he fulfilled Andrael’s law and got Licanius. And he killed her. For real, this time.”

Cyradin reeled in shock. A small part of his mind insisted that that wasn’t true—but Andrael was dead, wasn’t he? It wasn’t impossible. Another part of his mind, that one louder, insisted that Isiliar’s death wasn’t as bad as a child’s imprisonment in the Tributary. But most of him was just shocked. 

Meldier pressed something thin and wood into his hand. Cyradin looked down. It was a spear.

“I have to go back,” Meldier said. “We have to find the last Tributary. Take care, Cyr.”

“You too,” Cyradin said. 

They both got up and walked their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	12. To Be Certain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyradin finally has a storming spear.

Meldier was absent for the rest of the day, and vanished without a word before Cyradin could even get the chance to speak to him. The man was _driven,_ as though someone had lit a fire inside him.

__

Instead, Cyradin helped out in the kitchens. He fetched water. He sliced meat. He peeled vegetables and hauled away trash. 

It was easy enough, he supposed, and it kept him busy. But he had an ulterior motive. 

He wanted to know what Alaris and Gassandrid and the other Venerate were _really_ like. Not what Cyr had thought they were like. Not what they said they were like. The lighteyes always lie, after all. 

He didn’t expect them to treat him like a friend. They’d never met him before. He didn’t even expect to be treated like he belonged there. But he could hear the things they said around him, and that was enough. 

Most of it was simple gossip. “I heard that Taren, the cousin of Aliria the scullery maid, is getting married,” or “did you hear that Andor down the hall from Vale in the West End is moving away,” or “do you know who’s dating whom.” Little things. But there were others. Whispers about _Runners_ , whatever they were, and how the arena was closed for something, and by now of course rumors about Isiliar’s death had spread. Everyone seemed ever-so-slightly afraid of Cyradin, but for his part Cyradin just did the tasks they— _he_ —was assigned. In the mornings, Elissa would talk to him, even if she didn’t like him very much; Airan wasn’t much inclined to do anything more than nod hello. _Storms, I miss Syl_ , he thought. 

He still didn't know where his Reserve was, or how to draw from it, but he tried anyway. To just…feel something that felt like stormlight, like Essence, inside of him somewhere. Draw it out, if he could.

It didn’t ever work, but he kept trying anyway. 

Eventually, the day ended. And Cyradin went up to his room, put on some kind of armored leather tunic and grabbed his spear, and went outside to practice.

And he came alive. There was nothing like practicing with the spear. _Nothing_ compared to it. The feeling of…of lightness, and the exhilaration of it. That was something he could always count on, no matter how doubtful he started to be about his life when he was Kaladin. He still could expect the spear to be just as freeing now as it had been back then. 

People stopped to watch him, now, though. In the shadow of Alaris’s tower, where he practiced his katas and offered to spar with people, he was never without an audience of some kind. Although no one ever spoke to him, or took him up on a spar, they always watched as he practiced with something almost like sadness on their faces. Sometimes people would hurry past, without looking at him, but more tended to stay and watch. Inevitably, though, if he stopped, the crowd would disperse.

* * *

Cyradin had done the same thing for the second day in a row when Alaris joined him outside. “You prefer the spear, now?”

“I do,” Cyradin said, moving from pose to pose. “Fancy a spar?”

Alaris shook his head. “I don’t know how to use the spear,” he said.

“That’s fine,” Cyradin said. “We can do quarterstaves, or wrestling, I guess.”

Alaris still declined. “I’d rather not, Cyr. Although it sounds tempting. I might take you up on that when things aren’t so dire.”

Kaladin— _Cyradin_ —nodded. Fates, but he would have loved a chance for a good spar. 

He finished his katas, went inside. Went to his room to take off his armor and go to sleep.

There was someone standing just behind the door.

Cyradin panicked, years of experience taking over, and had her on the ground with the spear-tip pointed at her chest before he could even recognize her.

“Kaladin, please!” Elissa said, hands up. “Stop stop stop! Don’t hurt me!”

“Fates,” Cyradin said, lowering the spear and stretching a hand out to her. “You scared me half to death, Elissa.”

“I can see that,” she said wryly. She took the hand, and hauled herself to her feet. “But I need to ask you something important, and I can’t have anyone else knowing.”

Cyradin looked at her, and thought for a second. “Is this about your brother?”

A look of shock flitted across her face for a split second, but was gone before he could even register it. “Airan?” she asked. “No.”

“Not him,” Cyradin said. “The other one. I don’t know his name.”

“Kor’ad,” she said. “Yes. This is about him.”

“What happened to him?” Cyradin asked. He gestured to the chair in the corner and sat down on the bed. “Sit down, sit down. I get the impression this is going to be a long story.”


	13. Runner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious Kor'ad is explained, Elissa wants Cyradin's help, Meldier is about to die of exhaustion, and no one is as over Isiliar as they like to pretend.

Elissa sat back in the chair, twisting her hands uncomfortably in her lap. She bit her lip uncomfortably. “You have to promise me that this isn’t going to go back to anyone else,” she said. “It’s important. Please.” 

Cyradin nodded. “If it’s such sensitive information, then why are you telling me? You barely even know me.”

She made a noncommittal noise. “It’s not so _sensitive_ , so much as it’s just…well. It can’t get me or my brother into any trouble, really, unless someone decides to make things hard for us. But you might be able to, well. You seem like you would be willing to help us,” she finished softly. 

He nodded. “I won’t tell anyone else.” 

“Especially not Lord Meldier,” she said adamantly.

He considered. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said finally, “but Meldier is one of the only people who I can trust, here. Even if he is a Bri—a highborn.”

“But you won’t tell him about Kor’ad?”

“I won’t,” Cyradin agreed. “I swear.”

She twisted her fingers so hard that Cyradin worried she was going to break them. Her knuckles were white. Her face showed no sign of it, but she was terrified. 

“Kor’ad was Airan and my older brother,” she said. “He’s a Runner.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“A—he was a _Runner._ From the army,” she explained. That didn’t actually explain anything.

“He was a deserter?” Cyradin asked. 

“Yeah,” she said. 

“Alright,” Cyradin said. 

“He ran away in…probably a few years ago, now,” she said. “They caught him not long ago, just like they always do, and they put him somewhere in the Arena.”

Cyradin tried to keep his confusion off of his face. “The Arena?”

“You really don’t know much, do you?” Elissa asked, incredulous. 

“It’s my first time in this city,” Cyradin said, “and I only recently even came to a place like this, ever. I don’t know all that much about it.”

She squinted at him. “The other cities aren’t _that_ different,” she said. “I’ve been there.”

Cyradin nodded. “I’m not from another city.”

She looked like she wanted to challenge that, but instead took a breath and moved on. “The Arena is where the Runners and criminals of any kind, if their crimes are bad enough, are jailed. And they fight in the Arena proper. It’s…they fight to the death, and the winner gets a stay of execution. And if a fighter manages to survive one hundred fights, they go free.”

The part of Cyradin that remembered being Kaladin heard _bridgeman_ in that promise. One hundred bridge runs, and you’re free. “Has anyone ever survived that long?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so,” he muttered. And then: “Fates, how many people did Meldier kill yesterday?

“ _Yesterday?_ ”

“He was there yesterday…fates, that’s probably where he’s been today, too. Since Isiliar was killed. And he was covered in blood and dirt, yesterday.”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s been closed.”

He nodded. Right. “You said your _brother_ was there? Why are you telling _me_?”

She closed her eyes. “He escaped.”

“And you want to find him?”

“Fates, no,” she said. “I just want to make sure he lives. And that he hasn’t been recaptured. It’s been almost two weeks.”

Wait… “He escaped, and you know this _how_?”

“They came looking for him in the middle of the night,” she said. “And he left us a letter, the day after. Kaladin, I’m worried about him. I’m sure you understand. And it’s just him and Airan, they’re the only ones I have left…”

“You want me to, what. Get him a message?”

“No,” she said. “I want you to get him across the Boundary.”

* * *

Cyradin walked Elissa home, and saw her off safely. The night was _hot_. It was as though the heat in this place never seemed to dissipate. Cyradin fought the urge to take off his shirt on the way back; the fabric clung to his sweaty skin in a way that was utterly unpleasant.

He made his way back to the central building, found his room, went to go to sleep for the second time that night. 

There was _someone else_ in the room. Not behind the door, like Elissa had waited, but sitting in the deep shadows in the corner of the room near the small window. If he weren’t already so on-edge from what Elissa had told him, he would have missed it. Instead, he instinctively tried to draw Stormlight from a pouch of spheres he didn’t have. Nothing happened, as it always seemed to not do, but he did manage to duck just as the person threw out a shadowy hand and…flicked on the light?

It was Meldier. He looked terrible, and exhausted.

“ _Cyr_?” Meldier asked, evidently surprised. 

“Meldier?” 

“Why are you _here_?” Meldier asked. 

Cyradin frowned. 

“This is my room,” he said eventually. 

Meldier squinted at him, and then finally looked around at the room. “Fates,” he said, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. “You’re right.”

“Meldier,” he said, and stopped. Started speaking again. “Are you alright?”

Meldier gave him a _look_. “What part of me looks even vaguely _alright_?” There wasn’t any heat to his tone. Only a bone-deep exhaustion. Cyradin got the impression that Meldier was trying very hard to stay on his feet. 

“I…do you want my help with something?” he asked. 

Meldier shrugged, and glanced back at the window. “What are we going to do, Cyr?” he said quietly, and somehow Cyradin knew that Meldier didn’t want a response. “Tal’kamar has done everything he could to make our lives miserable. He killed Isiliar. We have El, but he has a cause. There is no arguing with an insane man, is there? Is there any way we can bring him _back_?”

Meldier’s voice cracked. 

Cyradin didn’t remember Tal’kamar, at all, but he suddenly knew that he and Meldier had once been close. And how _dare_ he do this to Cyradin’s friends? To his own friends, no less. Something about this Tal had to be, to be fundamentally _broken_ , or something. No one could so thoroughly destroy a group of people with this much storming _precision_ and not be any less than pure evil. 

“Do you need a glass of water? Anything?” Cyradin offered instead. 

Meldier nodded silently. “It’s late,” the swordsman suddenly noted. 

“It is,” Cyradin agreed. 

“Very dark outside,” he said.

“It is,” Cyradin agreed again. Where was this going?

“You were back late, too,” he said.

“I was,” Cyradin said. _Was he going to ask about Elissa…_

“Were you having a nice night?”

“I was.”

“That’s all we can do, isn’t it?” Meldier muttered, pressing his hand to the warm glass. “Be happy, try to move on with our lives. We can’t bring her back.”

“I guess,” Cyradin said. 

“It’s late,” Meldier said again. “I should let you sleep.”

“It’s not that late,” Cyradin protested. “Barely late at all, really.”

Meldier looked at him, a laugh playing at the edges of his mouth. “It is, though. It’s almost midnight.”

“The fabrial is wrong,” Cyradin suggested. “It can’t be _that_ late.”

“The _what?_ ” Meldier asked. It was the first sign of anything other than a deep, deep exhaustion that Cyradin had seen from the man, and it was heartening, even if he didn’t seem to know what a fabrial was. 

“The…time-keeping device. In Alethkar, we called them clocks,” he explained. 

“They’re still called clocks here,” Meldier said. He seemed amused. _Great_. 

“Well, the clock is wrong. It’s not _that_ late.” He was sabotaged by a yawn that tried to tear itself out of his throat. Cyradin didn’t think they— _he_ , dammit, he was doing so well—had managed to stifle it enough. 

Meldier chuckled aloud. _Worth it. He’s so miserable._

“It is that late, I think,” Meldier said. “I have work to do tomorrow. We’d both best get some sleep.”

“Do you want me to walk you to your room?” Cyradin offered. 

Meldier nodded. “Considering I thought this _was_ my room…yes. I think I very much would like that.”


	14. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meldier is working out his stress in the exact way that canon gave him. Cyr has a Quest, though, and he's getting some storming answers.

Cyr spent the week in the Citadel. Many things happened. 

He finished integrating properly, so far as he could tell. He still sometimes thought of himself as being “Cyr and Kaladin,” but considering only Elissa ever really called him Kaladin, it was easier to just go by Cyr until things changed somehow. He stopped calling himself two people, and that was a definite improvement. He still spoke his thoughts out loud, sometimes, but less often, and when he did he usually was able to stop himself without much difficulty. 

He’d also finally managed to remember how to use Essence, although the principle of draw wasn’t making much sense. He couldn’t get a firm enough grasp on kan, but he could find his Reserve, and tap it on occasion despite not being able to do anything really fancy with it. For now, he was just unusually strong. 

And yet, he still had no idea of where Elissa and Airan’s older brother Kor’ad could possibly have been, or even if he was in the Arena complex somewhere. He hadn’t started poking around outside of Alaris’s building, but he planned to do so today. 

He talked Alaris into getting him a blunted short sword, and was trying to retrain his muscles into holding a swordsman’s stance like he remembered from his—Cyr’s—past, but Cyr didn’t seem to have the muscle memory. He kept falling into a spearman’s stance when he wasn’t paying attention, so for the time being he was keeping an eye out for someone who he could co-opt as a training partner to run some resetting exercises. And he kept practicing with the spear in his off time. That never got old. 

It was morning, and Cyr was awake, so he stretched and put on a clean tunic and pants, slipped on his boots and went outside. _Time to find some answers_. 

The sun was low in the sky when he stepped outside into it’s light, and there was, for once, a slight breeze. The oppressive heat felt slightly less oppressive. Cyr took a deep breath, fighting the urge to grin. This was nice weather. 

He stopped someone in the street and made sure that he was going the right way to get to the Arena. They nodded, and so he kept walking. Go south, then take a left on the third street down, then another left. 

The building was huge; it spanned the entire field of Cyr’s vision when he found it. A towering, spiky wall, with tiny, barred windows set into it every five or so feet. He knew deep in his gut that this was near where the place Alaris had called Seclusion was, even though he couldn’t place it on a map. 

He squared his shoulders. _This is where Kor’ad would be, if he were caught,_ Cyr said, and that was enough. He took a step forwards, and another one. 

Every memory he’d ever had, whether he was Cyr or Kaladin, screamed at him to run away. He took a third step towards the Arena. 

_I’m not going to like what I find, no matter what it is_ , he acknowledged. _I know that. I still have to try_. 

He took the fourth step. He was at the door. 

He raised a hand. Hesitated. Took another deep breath, rapped it down hard on the steel. 

Someone slid back an eyeslot. “Arena’s closed except to soldiers,” he said. “No shows today.”

Cyr fought the urge to step away from the door. “That’s alright,” he said, “I’m supposed to be here. My name is Cyr.”

The man stepped away from the door, and Cyr was able to get a glimpse inside. It just looked like any other building, made of the same dark stone. “I’m gonna have to check that—”

“Ask Mel—Lord Meldier, I know he’s in there. He’ll tell you to let me in,” Cyr interrupted, and hoped it was true. And that Meldier wouldn’t ask any questions. Cyr had pretext—he brought Meldier lunch, and did hope to talk to his friend before the day’s end—but if he found out about Elissa’s brother, Cyr wasn’t sure what would happen. And he’d promised her that he’d keep Kor’ad a secret, anyway. He didn’t plan on going back on that. Nobles like Meldier, or even Cyr himself, might be able to get out of the consequences for something like that, but he didn’t think that Elissa would have it so easy if her secret was found out. Cyr wasn’t inclined to screw that up for her. 

He fought the urge to step out of the shadow of the Arena as the time tricked by. The sun had broken through the last of the blue glowing haze at the edges of the horizon, and rose in the air just high enough to show through the cracks between the buildings. This place was always stunning in the mornings, but Cyr wasn’t here to enjoy the view, and he was still anxious. He didn’t pay it much attention.

Instead, he tapped his fingers together. And tapped on his wrist. Fiddled with the cuffs of his linen tunic. Tapped his foot. Ran his fingers through his long hair, and glanced at the sky to try and make sure that it hadn’t been longer than he thought it had been. People rushed through other parts of the city, but no one walked here. The uneasy feeling in Cyr’s stomach never abated, but it did get less and less as the last vestiges of night were chased from the Citadel. 

Finally, the guard on the door returned. “Lord Meldier said you can enter. You were here for him?”

Cyr nodded, remembered the man probably couldn’t see him all that well, and said, “Yeah.”

“Great. Just up the stairs until you get to the main level,” he said. “You can’t miss him.”

The man did something on his end that ended with some clattering noise of one kind or another, and then the unmistakable sound of heavy metal bolts being drawn back scraped over Cyr’s ears. The door grated open. Inside, the building was well lit and, if not _cheery,_ per se, it sure wasn’t damp and rotting and full of rats and skeletons or any of the other things Cyr’s imagination had been conjuring up. He took a final breath of air from the outside world and stepped into the building. 

The man, who turned out to be a bored-looking youth that Cyr assumed was only about his—er, that was, _Kaladin_ ’s—age, pointed at a stairway. “Like I said, straight up. He said he’d be waiting for you there.”

Cyr nodded his thanks. “Have a good one.”

“You too, Lord Cyr.” He seemed surprised to be addressed with even that little common courtesy. Cyr rewrote his opinion of the local nobility again. Even if everything he knew about the Venerate themselves suggested that that was out of character, he didn’t know any of the other authorities. 

He started up the stairs, noting how his footfalls echoed on the stairs almost absently. The floor was clearly made of metal, and patches of rust speckled it; whatever the soles of his boots were made of had to be pretty hard. He sounded like an entire horde of axehounds walking up the stairs. He almost winced at the volume. 

_Archives, archives. I’m going to need to find archives._ He was pretty sure he could read them. Cyr remembered being able to read from the memories he had, and even if he didn’t remember _how_ to read, he could probably figure it out. Context was everything. He could do this.

But first he had to find Meldier.

One flight of stairs passed. Then two. Then three. And then the faint echoes of screams started to reach Cyr’s ears. 

From what he could tell, he was getting closer to them with every step he took. It might have been one person, or it might have been more than one, but certainly—Cyr _thought_ —no more than five. Their screams were heartbreaking; it sounded like someone was being tortured. Continuously. There wasn’t anything that seemed even vaguely approaching an end to the shrieking.

Cyr didn’t know who was screaming, but he didn’t think it was Meldier. 

He couldn’t tell much, but as he got higher up in the building, it became more and more abundantly clear that the person who was screaming was only one person. There was variation, sure, but not, well, enough of it. 

Was Meldier capable of this, this, this _atrocity_? Was it Gassandrid? Was it just some normal person, acting under someone else’s orders…and if that were the case, then who? Cyr felt himself getting angrier and angrier with every step he passed. How _dare_ they. How dare this world play so callously with people’s lives. 

And then another thought struck him.

_What if that—the person screaming—what if that was Kor’ad_?

He didn’t dwell on it. He would cross that bridge if and when he got to it, and that was final. There was no sense in agonizing about maybes or might haves.

He realized he had stopped moving, and started forwards again. _It can’t be that much farther_.

The echoing screaming seemed to calm down for a second, and as the echoes faded around him, Cyr realized that they had stopped altogether. _Storms, what if they’re dead_?

Keep moving. One flight of stairs, and then he came to a large flat platform. This was where he needed to go. 

And then he saw Meldier. 

The man leaned against a wall, but he didn’t in any way look casual. Blood streaked his fine shirt, and splatters of it were on his face and his shoes. His shoulder-length black hair was knotted around clumps of congealing blood. He was utterly filthy, and covered in blood. The sheath at his side, the one that held the normal sword, was conspicuously empty. 

Cyr shivered. 

“Cyr!” Meldier said in greeting. He didn’t sound half as miserable as he had last night. Cyr didn’t buy it for a moment. “It’s good to see you.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances,” Cyr said agreeably. He was shaken. This was… _Meldier_ was…well. That was the last time he was doubting Elissa’s opinion of someone, that was for sure. 

“I brought you lunch,” Cyr offered. “And company.”

“It’s just a bit early for lunch,” Meldier said. 

Cyr laughed. “Just a little bit.”

Meldier shrugged, stepping towards the staircase. “Well, it just so happens that I’m hungry,” he said. “Might as well eat now.”

Cyr nodded. “You want to wash up first, or just…”

Meldier grinned. “I can use Essence,” he said, and did… _something_ …that Cyr could see almost as like, a sheet of Essence coming over him. The thing burst outwards, and the blood fell off of Meldier like it was being lifted up and off of him. 

“Handy trick.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“That it is,” Cyr said. “Let’s go outside. I don’t really like it in here very much.”

“Not to your tastes?”

Cyr shuddered, remembering that godforsaken, tortured screaming. “Not to my tastes at all.”

They walked down the stairs, chatting aimlessly, and Cyr noticed that Meldier wasn’t…like he had been. He wasn’t sad. He was _angry_. And more than that, he was restless. Explosive, almost. Cyr wasn’t surprised—he and Isiliar had evidently been close friends—but he still worried about Meldier. When he came out of the grips of whatever this was, whoever it was he had been hurting would still be hurt. And he didn’t think that Meldier would deal with that very well at all. 

Cyr and Meldier finally reached the exit and stood outside in what appeared to be the noon sunlight. It had been a while. 

“Guess it wasn’t as early as I thought, after all,” Meldier said. 

“Guess not,” Cyr agreed. 

“What did you bring?”

“Mostly just bread. A little jam. There’s some kind of meat here, too,” he said, digging through the small basket he’d brought. “And I think Elissa slipped in…is this wine? This is wine.” That was a careful lie.

“Your servant friend sent you _wine_?”

“She thinks I need it, I think,” he said. The plan. _Get him just a little bit drunk, go back inside with him, and then slip away. He shouldn’t notice a thing._

“Shame on her. You’re clearly a recovering alcoholic,” Meldier joked. “Seriously, though. Fates. An entire bottle of whiskey in one day, and she sends you _more_ alcohol?”

“Well, technically, it was only half a bottle,” Cyr protested. “And I have supervision.”

Meldier actually laughed at that. “I know you still _think_ you’re twenty, but I’m telling you, Cyr—”

“I know, I know. You’re still going to play the part of the responsible adult and drink all of it before I can touch it, aren’t you?” 

He paused. “Is that an option?”

“I would imagine so—”

Meldier snatched the small wine bottle out of his hand. “Don’t touch it. It’s mine now.” _Too easy_. And then he…put it into his coat pocket. 

“What, you’re just going to hoard it?”

“No, not really,” Meldier said, sobering. “I’m going to save it for later. I don’t want to think about today ever again. I’m sure you relate.”

_Fates._

Cyr shrugged and tried not to look even a little bit disappointed. “Well, I mean. She’s probably going to ask me what I thought of it, and I know she really thinks you’re just _fascinating_ , so I was hoping I would be able to tell her what you think…?”

Meldier frowned, “Your servant friend thinks I’m _fascinating_.”

“To be fair, as far as I can tell about half of all the servants think you’re fascinating. I mean, you’re new here and yet noble, and also—” how do I translate Elissa’s ‘ _that ass_ ’ into functional words, “attractive. To most of them. That I know of.”

Meldier must have thought the idea of Cyr trying to deal with that was funnier than any perceived slight. “Why were they telling _you_?”

Cyr tried not to laugh. “Uh. Remember how I was, er. How do I put it. Thinking outside of my own head, there, for a while? I did that in front of the entire kitchen.”

“About me?”

“Well, yeah. It was, I think, it was the first day I was here, I said something to Elissa and then fates know that you tell something like _that_ to one of the people working on-shift in the kitchen, well. Word gets around.”

“That’s utterly hilarious.” Meldier delivered this line absolutely deadpan, with a straight face, which he held for all of probably four seconds before grinning like a loon. “You really want me to try this wine? Let’s open the damned wine.”

They did. 

It was delicious. 

Meldier drank enough that he didn’t seem to notice when Cyr ducked down a side passage, and started poking around. He got directions from a couple men in Telaesthesia, and found the archives easily enough. 

And then he had another problem.

He knew he had used to know how to read. 

That didn’t mean he still did. 

He opened one of the books, hoping that he could maybe try to interpret what the hell it meant from the lines of small black text o the page, for almost five minutes before he suddenly realized that he was probably holding the book upside down. He flipped it over. That didn’t make much of a difference. 

He thought back to one of the oldest memories he could recall, where he’d been trying to read an order sheet for some supplies of some kind or another so he could place a request for a small amount of fabric. The words made perfect sense in his mind. But these were indecipherable symbols…and yet, they started to clarify themselves even as he focused on it. The letters shifted into words, like something finally settling into place. With only just a slight tinge of discomfort from the part of him that remembered being Kaladin and thought that a man reading was, well, shameful, he started to dig through the archives. 

He found the entrance-exit log for the past week, and started to read through it. He didn’t find anyone named Kor’ad. That wasn’t helpful, though, because half of the prisoners were simply referred to as “Runner,” followed by a physical description. There was a chance he was here, but he had no way of knowing for certain. 

He found the log from when Kor’ad had been incarcerated here. There was his name, written in black ink. So they knew who he was. The same hand that wrote this entry in the archive had written the other ones, so he figured…

Kor’ad had probably not been recaptured. 

Carefully, he slipped out of the archive room and back to the staircase. With the screams of the tortured echoing in his ears, Cyr descended. 


	15. Meldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone's going to yell at me about this. i can't blame you.

The next day started off with yelling and loud noises. Someone shook Cyr’s shoulder, hard, and he snapped awake. It was one of the Gassandrids. That was certainly something Cyr never wanted to wake up to ever again.

“Meldier is dead and Tal’kamar has escaped,” the corpse rasped. 

“What?” Cyr yawned, and was hit in the face with the handle of his spear. 

“Meldier was stabbed with Licanius,” the corpse repeated, hefting a bundle of what looked like simple plate armor and throwing it at Cyr. He tried to catch it and was still hit in the face anyway. “Tal’kamar has escaped, but his rescuer is still in the Arena.”

 _Storms!_ Cyr thought, finally waking up enough to process that. “Meldier is _dead_?”

The corpse nodded, leaving the room. “You are expected at the Arena. Quickly,” it ordered, as it vanished down the hallway. 

* * *

Cyr ran past soldiers in Telaesthesia and plainclothes alike, and burst into the jail. He was informed tersely that he needed to go all the way up the stairs to where he had seen Meldier last. The staircase was empty of screaming, now, although he could hear the hubbub of voices from far ahead. He sprinted up the stairs, and found that the room he’d found Meldier outside of, yesterday, was open.

His friend’s bloodied body was crumpled on the ground, the strange sword he’d been wearing—evidently Licanius—protruding from his corpse like a, a, a…like a flag, or something. Cyr didn’t want to touch it, but at the same time, he wanted the damn thing _out_ of Meldier. This instant. And Meldier’s wasn’t the only corpse in the room. A decapitated, though otherwise whole, body hung in black metal chains over a pile of limbs. In all fairness, the sight was horrific. But after chasm duty as a bridgeman, there wasn’t much that a pile of severed body parts could do to him or his resolve. Even so, the idea that _Meldier_ had been the sole architect of what looked like a good ten or twenty people’s worth of severed body parts was still strange. 

He stepped into the circular room and realized that the black dirt around where the bodies were was _not_ , in fact, black dirt. It was sand. The sand had been so thoroughly saturated with old blood that it looked dark, dark brown. The smell of iron was strong enough to make even Cyr wince. 

Two of the Gassandrids, along with a few soldiers in Telaesthesia, raised their hands in greeting as he walked through the entrance. He nodded back, but none of them seemed too inclined to say anything.

“Who did this?” he asked instead. 

“A boy,” the older of the two soldiers said. “A runner. We found him and a girl both and were bringing them in, when they just…disappeared. Vanished, and took off.”

Gassandrid took over, “We don’t know who they were, but both of them were young. The girl is still unaccounted for, but the boy is in a cell. We think he might be an Augur from beyond the Boundary. It is of incredible importance that she is found.”

“I still don’t know how to use Essence or kan,” Cyr protested. “I can’t help.”

“Even so,” said the other corpse, “there aren’t enough of us left. You’re the only person we can spare.”

Cyr nodded again. “I want to talk to Meldier’s murderer,” he said. 

* * *

He was led to a cell. The door opened. A teenage boy huddled in one corner. 

The first thing Cyr noticed, before anything else, was that the boy was _tiny._

The second thing was that he looked like Tien.

That was it. It was too early for this. Cyr turned around, and promptly walked back out, slamming the cell shut behind him. 

“This is the one who killed Meldier?” he asked the soldier again. 

“Yup,” the soldier said. “I wouldn’t take you anywhere else, Lord Cyr. This is him.”

Cyr glanced back at the boy. “You’re absolutely _sure_ this was him?”

“With all due respect, sir,” he said. “I watched him decapitate Meldier’s prisoner. He’s not as innocent as he looks. And he can handle a sword. It had to have been him.”

Cyr took a deep breath. He opened the door to the cell again.

“What’s your name?” he asked the boy. The boy looked at him, but didn’t respond. There was a scar cutting through his right eye.

Cyr shut the door behind him, and leaned against the wall. He tried again. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy glared at him. 

Cyr shrugged. “My name is Kaladin,” he said. 

The boy blinked, clearly surprised. “Why are you telling me that?” he asked.

“Because I want to know what your name is,” Cyr explained. “Because I’m having a very rough morning, and everyone I know is dead, and I’m still just looking for some _fates-cursed answers_.” 

The boy sat up. Now that he wasn’t curled into a ball in the corner, Cyr could see that he was a bit older than Cyr had originally thought. “My name is Davian,” he said reluctantly. 

“Davian,” Cyr said. “You were a soldier, right? You must have some reason—”

Davian looked nonplussed. “I wasn’t a soldier,” he said.

“But you were a runner?”

“A what?”

“A, um, a deserter, from the army,” Cyr explained. “They told me you were a runner?”

Davian smiled ever-so-faintly. “They were wrong,” he said. 

It was too early for this. Cyr already had a headache. He shrugged. “Well, you clearly can handle a sword,” he said. “Unless Gassandrid was wrong about that too?”

“No,” Davian said. Something sharp was looking out from behind the boy’s eyes. “I killed the man who was torturing my friend.”

“You were friends with _Tal’kamar_?” Cyr suddenly realized. “That’s never worked out well for anyone, historically speaking.”

Davian crossed his arms, face growing guarded again. He found a spot on the floor, and looked like he wanted to destroy it with the force of his expression. “People change,” he said defensively. 

Cyr looked hard at Davian. “How old even are you?” he asked.

Davian shrugged. “Sixteen,” he said. “What about you?”

Cyr looked at his hands for a second. “Far as I know, I’m twenty.”

Davian squinted at him. “Really.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

Davian looked away, and then looked back. “People lie about a lot of things.”

“That’s true,” Cyr said. “That’s the truest thing anyone’s said to me today.”

Davian looked at him silently for a moment, and went back to staring at a point on the floor. 

“If you’re not a runner, then,” Cyr said, “where are you from?”

“It’s not important,” Davian said.

“I think it is,” Cyr countered. “Considering you just singlehandedly murdered my closest friend, who also just so happened to be an incredibly good swordsman…I, for one, would like to know what is going on.” 

Davian said something, but Cyr could suddenly notice a sort of _pulling_ on his Reserve, and he missed it. “What are you doing?” he asked instead.

Davian looked up, caught. He quickly tried to make himself look impassive, but he still looked like he knew he was in some trouble. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to play innocent.

Cyr tried to focus on the Essence he could feel, but he still had a hard time sensing it. “Essence. You’re doing something to my Essence.”

Davian’s eyes darted towards the closed door of the cell, and then back to Cyr. “Fates,” the kid muttered. “I’m surviving.”

Cyr’s head was swimming, but he still thought he had plenty of Essence in his Reserve. “You’re one of the, uh. The whatever-they’re-calleds from across the Boundary, aren’t you?” he said. 

Davian frantically shook his head. “I’m not, I swear,” he insisted, panic clear in his eyes, but he wasn’t that great of a liar, and both he and Cyr knew it. He _was_ from beyond the Boundary. 

Cyr shook his head. “I’m sorry, Davian,” he said. 

He opened the door, and left. 

The clang of the metal slamming shut behind him wasn’t enough to wipe the terrified look on Davian’s face from his mind. 


	16. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyr has finally found a Main Quest!   
> now, if only he could solve all of his Side Quests, that would be nice....

Cyr sat in his room, thinking.

Davian was a sixteen year old boy, just like Kaladin had been when he signed up under Amaram’s army. Just like Kaladin, he was manipulated by the lighteyes—or, well. By Tal’kamar.. Another child, a girl, was trapped in one of the Tributaries so that Tal’matar’s plans would work. Davian had had a girl, supposedly just a bit older than he was, with him. Cyr was older than all three of them purportedly was. 

How. How dare Tal’akmar. What kind of _cremling_ would do that to a bunch of _children_?

Well. Amaram would make kids fight for him. But even a Brightlord as evil as Amaram would probably never have forced a child to be in the _storming Tributary_. 

And that same Tak’ramal was the same one who created the Boundary. Who created the Tributaries. He was the same one that was fighting the Venerate, even if Cyr didn’t really understand why. But he did know that people were dying, whatever side you looked at, because of Tal. 

And that was it. He knew what he was going to do.

He was going to stop Tal’tamar. 

* * *

Cyr put on a traveling coat and some heavy boots and went to say goodbye to Alaris. Alaris wasn’t where Cyr could find him, though, so he instead wrote a note and left it on Alaris’s desk. He would understand. 

He went to the kitchens for the last time, and went to try and find Elissa or Airan, but neither were there. So he went to the west end, found their apartment, and knocked. 

Elissa opened the door, looking hassled. “Kaladin, why are you here?” she snapped. “Did you find him?”

Cyr shook his head. “I’m coming to say goodbye. There is…I have something I need to do,” he said lamely. “I promise I’ll keep looking for, um, _him_ while I’m traveling, though.”

She nodded. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

And he left. 

The last stop he needed to make…he had to find Gassandrid. Or one of the Gassandrids. They could make Gates. And he would need a Gate to leave this place.

Cyr took a deep breath. There was one place that he thought he could find them, almost for sure. But there was no way he wanted to go there.

He squared his shoulders, stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking towards the Arena. 

* * *

Cyr continued walking down the road, but he was also thinking. 

_There’s no way that Gassandrid, of all people, is going to help me leave_ , he realized. There was _no_ chance.

Storms, but he still had to try. Nothing would happen if he just gave up. So he kept walking.

The shadow of the Arena rose above the other buildings of the Citadel until it seemed to loom over everything, blocking out even parts of the sky. Cyr stepped past the soldiers—they nodded in greeting, which wasn’t a surprise, as they likely recognized him from earlier—and knocked on the door. The guard silently drew back the eye-slot, nodded, and opened the door. “Good luck, Lord Cyr. I hope you can bring the bastard to justice,” he said quietly, and Cyr once again ascended the staircase to the top floor of the Arena.

He went slowly, this time; there wasn’t a rush, and he had to know what in _fates_ he was going to say to Gassandrid to convince them to let him leave the Citadel, let alone the rest of the Boundary. 

_Wait. I have an idea._

There was some girl in the Tributary, right? He could use that. It wouldn’t even be a lie, really. Even if he did need to stop whats-his-name, uh, Tam’lakar first. 

Right. Yes. That was the plan, and he could do that. He kept going up. 

Finally, he came to the main floor of the Arena. This place still made him want to crawl out of his skin, but by now the bodies had thankfully been removed. He took a deep breath, and stepped into the sandy expanse. 

“Cyr?” Gassandrid asked. Only one of their dead corpse puppets were still in the room. “Why are you here?”

Cyr swallowed his discomfort. He really didn’t like talking to Gassandrid. “I…need you to make a Gate for me so that I can get across the Boundary.”

“What?”

“I need to get across the Boundary. I’m going to find the last Tributary. I’m the only one you can spare,” he explained. “And even if I can’t use Essence or kan, I can still use my eyes. I’ll find it.”

Gassandrid’s puppet still had that same slack expression, but his tone was conflicted. “I’ll have to speak to Alaris and Diarys,” they said eventually. 

“But you will consider it?” Cyr asked. 

“Yes,” the corpse rasped. “We will decide if you’re right, but…for what it’s worth, Cyr, I’m glad you want to help.”

Cyr nodded his assent. “There’s nothing else worth doing,” he said.

The corpse nodded jerkily.

And Cyr left. 

* * *

Cyr made his point to the collected Venerate, and then waited in his room as the other Venerate continued to discuss whether or not to let him cross the Boundary. He packed his bag, and then he took everything ot and repacked it. He tapped his fingers, and then he finally picked up his spear and walked outside into the shadow of the tower again. He was going to lose his mind, he was so antsy. 

He was in the middle of probably the fourth run of a kata when Gassandrid came and found him. 

“You have decided?” Cyr asked, dropping the stance and wiping the sweat from his brow. 

“We have decided,” the corpse agreed. “We are going to send you across the Boundary.”

“Great,” Cyr said, and followed the dead body inside the tower once again.

* * *

Gassandrid stood in a large circle, each corpse that made up their hive-mind standing shoulder-to-shoulder and extending their hands towards the center. Something was building in the air. Cyr could feel the hairs on the back of their neck raising, even if they couldn’t use Essence or kan; he could still feel it, and it was building inexorably upwards. The very air seemed to thrum with the energy, the sheer intense _tension_ that was building up around them. 

And then a wave of blue fire exploded into being, and there was a muted roar as a ring of flames appeared hovering in the air inside the circle of dead, animated bodies. 

“It is done,” said Gassandrid. 

“Thank you,” said Cyr. 

He hefted his bag over his shoulder, ran a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. Then he stepped into the ring of fire. 

It was time to find and stop Takramlar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is awful but i wrote it in a car driving to some college fair thing and then while waiting on line. it's fragmented af.


	17. Beyond the Boundary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> side quests get less sidelined and more questy  
> also kaladin is 20 years old and would like to not die

The Gate let Cyr out into a densely wooded place. The underbrush was thick enough that Cyr could scarcely walk through it, and there was no path in sight. _Great. I’m in the middle of nowhere_. 

He had to find Tar’kamar. 

He started forwards in a random direction, walked for about one minute, and promptly stopped. “Storms,” he muttered. The forest looked just as foresty on one side of him than the other. With his luck, he’d probably be eaten by a wild animal. 

He didn’t know which way was south, but that was where he had to go. Alaris had told him that. Of course, Alaris had neglected to give him anything _useful_ to find the direction with, but in all fairness, Cyr hadn’t expected to need it. Of course they would drop him in a forest. It wouldn’t _hurt_ him if he died of starvation, after all. He’d come back. 

_Storms. This is terrible_ , he thought, and kept moving forwards. 

The forest seemed to get darker and darker, even though Cyr couldn’t see the sky; and then he found a stream and wandered over, and through the patches of space where he had clear, unobstructed vision, he saw the moon and stars and realized it was probably late at night. El take him, but he had never been much of a forester, and he didn’t know what in the hells he was doing. 

Cyr drank from the stream, and then he straightened up. And realized something. 

_I can follow this; it will be an easier way to travel,_ he thought. _But I should get some sleep, if I can._

He walked away from the stream a ways until he found a tree that looked like he could climb it without much difficulty and slung the straps of his bag over one of the branches and tied up his spear, before he climbed up and sat down in the corner between two thick ones himself. He helped himself to a little of the bread and dried meat that he had packed, and then closed his eyes. 

He woke up lying on the ground, his ribs aching. He’d evidently fallen out of the tree. He stood up to walk, but his ankle buckled, nerves screaming in pain, when he put any weight on it. _Storms!_

 _Bruised ribs, sprained or possibly bruised ankle,_ he thought, trying to categorize what he needed to take care of. _Headache, possibly from head trauma_. 

He took down his pack carefully, and took out the rope and strips of bandages that he’d _hoped_ he wouldn’t need. No such luck, he figured. He quickly made a makeshift splint for his ankle, but he didn’t know if it would hold up. He would have to get proper supplies once he reached civilization, instead of this storming expanse of trees and brush. 

Leaning on his spear as though it were a walking stick, Cyr made his way downstream.

 _I shouldn’t go by Cyr any more,_ he realized. _If Takamalar really was one of the Venerate, he’s going to know that name. I can go back to being Kaladin,_ he figured. _That’s a pretty good cover, and I mean. I like my name._

Cyr—Kaladin now, actually—stopped for lunch once the sun had come and passed directly overhead. He was going slowly, trying to take care for his injured ankle, but he only had so much food; he really only had a week at best to find someplace to stop and resupply himself. And get a proper cast on his ankle. He was pretty sure it was broken; it felt almost like the bones were grating up against one another.

When he wrapped up the bread once more, though, he heard voices. It sounded like, so far as he could tell, two men. Sprinting through the underbrush at what could have been a breakneck pace if the small plants and roots and vines littering the forest floor and catching at their legs and feet didn’t stop them. 

“Hey!” he said, waving a hand from where he sat on a log. “What’s the rush?”

One of the men broke from the tree line, looking panicked. He was tall, and had long blonde hair. And several of what looked like nasty _burns_ on his face and hands. He was wearing a simple peasant’s clothing, but there was a fine sword strapped to his hip that resembled the one Kaladin himself had tucked away into his pack. 

“I’m—being chased!” the man yelped, and jumped over the small river to sprint through the trees on the other side.

“Kor’ad, _stop!_ ” the other man yelped, breaking through the brush and tripping over an exposed tree root to sprawl in front of Kaladin. “Stop him! He’s going to hurt himself!”

“Excuse me,” Kaladin said. “Did you say his name was Kor’ad?”

“Yes!” the man yelped. “And he’s my _patient!”_

“You’re a surgeon?” Kaladin asked, grabbing his bag, as the man scrambled to his feet. “You wouldn’t happen to be able to set my ankle, would you? After you find Kor’ad, of course. I wouldn’t want to stop you.”

The man was already charging into the brush on the other side of the river. Kaladin sighed. He _really_ didn’t want to follow them. 

But that didn’t matter. That was one hell of a trail they were leaving. 

Kaladin plodded along the path they crushed, and hoped that he would be able to, at least, find out why this mysterious burned man shared a name with Elissa’s brother. Or get his ankle set. Both would be nice.

* * *

Kaladin found the two men sitting at a fire of some kind, talking. Or, well. The surgeon was talking. Kor’ad seemed to be sitting and glaring. 

“Hello,” he said, and got two swords leveled directly at his neck for his trouble. The swords were identical, and he could swear that they matched the one he had. _Interesting_.

“Whoa, whoa, please stop,” he said. “Storms, my _ankle_ is broken. You,” he nodded at the one who wasn’t Kor’ad, “said you were a _surgeon_. Would you happen to have a cast?”

The one who said he was a surgeon put down his sword. Kor’ad didn’t.

Kor’ad looked over at the other man. “Jandel, we’re fates-damned caught. See the sword?”

“Wait—” Kaladin said, thinking Kor’ad was going to swing. “I think I have a message from your sister.”

Jandel’s eyes widened, and then he also put his sword back up. “Who in fates are you?”

“My name is Kaladin,” he explained quickly, “and I’m a kitchen worker in the Citadel. Or I mean, I _was_. Not sure where we are now, though…”

“You have a standard-issue army sword,” the man Kaladin thought was Jandel pointed out. 

“I haven’t got any armor. And my fates-cursed ankle is still broken. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I literally came for a cast. Although,” and this he said to Kor’ad, specifically, “I would like to mention that your sister aske—”

Kor’ad jumped, and his blade kissed Kaladin’s skin, but the man didn’t push hard enough to seriously hurt Kaladin. “If you hurt Elissa, I will take great pleasure in _skinning you alive_ ,” he hissed. 

“Good to know you and Airan share that trait,” Kaladin joked. “I didn’t do anything to her, I swear. We were…friends, I think.”

“You _think_.”

“It’s been a long time since I had anyone I could really call a friend,” he said awkwardly. “So I’m not really sure. But I think so.”

Kor’ad let the sword come back from where it had been pressed point-first to Kaladin’s neck. He felt a thin, hot trail of blood trickle down his neck, but otherwise there was no harm done. “Can I sit down? I wasn’t kidding about the ankle. Ideally I wouldn’t even be walking on it,” he griped. 

“Wait, really?” Jandel said, dropping the point of his sword to rest in the dirt. Kaladin disapproved of a soldier treating his weapon like that. “I’m not a fates-cursed surgeon. I don’t have anything for you.”

Kaladin swore. “At least you could let me travel with you, then,” he said. “I’m hopelessly lost.”

Kor’ad scowled. His sword was still pointed at Kaladin. “Wait here,” he said. “And drop the damned spear. I don’t want you stabbing one of us while our backs are turned.”

“I won’t stab you,” Kaladin said. “Just let me sit down. I’m leaning on this to keep the weight off of my storming _broken_ goddamned ankle.”

“You can sit where you are,” Kor’ad pointed out.

“What, in the brambles?”

“ _Yes_ , in the fates-damned brambles. You’re not getting any fates-damned closer to our fates-damned camp.”

“Alright, alright,” Kaladin slowly crouched down into the muck and underbrush. He let the spear fall to his side, and raised his hands over his shoulders. His ankle hurt like a bastard. “Better?”

“Yes, it’s blasted better.”

“You gonna stop pointing the El-cursed sword at me, then?”

“No, I sure as fates am _not_.”

“Alright, alright,” Kaladin said. “You clearly can’t talk to your companion over there if you’re standing here glaring at me, though. I would _appreciate_ it if you would come to a storming decision, sooner rather than later.”

Kor’ad scowled some more. “Oh, you would _appreciate_ it, huh.”

“Yes, I storming would.”

The man actually growled in frustration. “Can you just _stop_ for just. One minute. Please.”

Kaladin stared back at him evenly. “Can you let me travel with you so I don’t trip into the river and drown because I fell out of a damn tree and broke my fates-cursed ankle?”

“Why were you in a tree?”

“Sleep. Look, I just need to get to a town, or an outpost, or—fates, just _literally anywhere_ , and then you can wash your hands of me. It’s that storming simple. Now go talk to your damned friend, and just. Make a damned decision.”

Kor’ad took a deep breath. “Fine,” he muttered. “But not because I like you or anything.”

Kaladin shrugged. “Whatever works.”

Kor’ad shot a glare at him over his shoulder as he walked back towards where Jandel was waiting. 

* * *

It wound up that Jandel was more interested in keeping an eye on Kaladin than Kor’ad wanted him gone, so the two reluctantly agreed to have Kaladin tag along with them as they tried to make it to what sounded like a fairly large farming and trading village a little bit to the east. 

“I think we should be going _south_ ,” Kaladin suggested more than once, but Kor’ad just glared at him. 

The pace they walked was fast enough that Kaladin and his fates-damned storming broken ankle were having a hard time keeping up, but he managed. They walked for almost a half day, and then broke for a rest. 

“You have food, don’t you?” Kor’ad asked Kaladin. 

“I might,” Kaladin said. “Bread and strips of cured meat. Nothing fancy, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll take whatever you can give us,” Jandel jumped in helpfully. “We got nothing.”

“I’m happy to share,” Kaladin said cautiously, “but there was hardly enough for a week for just me. Between the three of us, it’ll probably only last a couple of days.”

“That’s fine,” Kor’ad said. “Should only be a couple of days before we’re rid of you, anyhow.”

“You know how far this town is?” Jandel rounded on Kor’ad. The normally jovial man didn’t look happy. “You said you never were up here before, you lying—”

“I never was,” Kor’ad cut him off, glaring. “I can read a damned map. It’s only a few days’ walk at the most. Unless _you_ ,” and this he spat at Kaladin, “can’t keep up, we should be there in two, maybe three days.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jandel said, “but you best not go through my things again, or you’ll regret it.”

“You want this or not?” Kaladin asked, offering each of them a strip of the cured meat. Jandel snatched both from his hand, and then handed the second, slightly larger one to Kor’ad. 

“Hey, this isn’t burnt at all,” Jandel said, eyeing Kaladin suspiciously. “How’d you get it through the Boundary?”

“Found a Gate,” he said. “Some shit went down in Seclusion about a week ago—”

“You were in _Seclusion_?” Jandel asked, horrified. “People _die_ in Seclusion!”

“I normally wouldn’t be,” Kaladin said, searching for a believable lie frantically, “but I mean, you know how it is. Lord Meldier gives an order, you don’t stop and say ‘people die,’ you just do it.”

Jandel nodded sympathetically. “And then you deserted?”

“Fates, yeah. Why do I want to risk my life day in and day out, and eventually storming _die_ for a bunch of el-cursed _nobles_ to preach about their glorious exploits? It’s never going to do _me_ any good,” Kaladin said. 

Kor’ad laughed. “Yeah, and I was in the army for fun, too. What did you tell your damned family? Your parents, your siblings?”

Kaladin looked away. “My siblings are dead. My parents might as well be. There’s no one for me to tell.”

Jandel nodded in sympathy again. “How old are you, son?”

Kaladin grimaced. “Turned twenty last I can recall. Might be twenty one, now, though. I don’t know.”

“Fates,” Kor’ad said. “So you _just_ got into that disaster they call an army, did you? Found out what the Telaesthesia actually does and ran for it?”

“Something like that,” Kaladin said. 

Kor’ad sighed, and some of the tension went out of his posture. “Let’s do this again,” he said, extending a hand. “My name is Kor’ad Torwen. I’m twenty six years old, and I would like to not die.”

“I’m Jandel Saldris,” said Jandel. “I’m thirty one years old, and I would like to not die.” 

“I’m Kaladin,” said Kaladin. “I’m twenty years old, and I would like to not die.”


	18. Transparency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jandel really doesn't like to share. 
> 
> Featuring: towns you might have heard of, mystery, _mystery,_ secrets, more mystery, arguments, and did i mention the mystery yet because there's a lot of that

It had been a day, and the weather had turned from warm and dry to wet and foggy. The damp was soaking into Kaladin’s clothing and his backpack, making the bread he had packed soggy and the cured meat an unpleasantly mushy texture. Kaladin’s storming ankle had swollen blue and black and nasty, but he thought that if he could figure out how the _hell_ Essence was supposed to work, he could probably heal it if it was set properly. He had decided that using the spear as a walking stick was going to damage the handle, and so he’d talked Jandel into cutting him a length of branch to use as a cane. It didn’t help much, but it was enough to keep him on his feet and moving through the dense brush. Jandel seemed to be leading the way, although as near as Kaladin could tell Kor’ad was the better woodsman. It simply looked as though Jandel had taken the lead by virtue of his age, and in all fairness that rankled just a bit with Kaladin. 

But he was the only one with a map. So Kaladin didn’t complain. 

They pushed through the dense overgrown forest and came out to what looked like a much larger river,a slow-moving yellowed thing that had rocks and such sticking out of it at odd angles up near the banks. It was the sort of river that looks shallow, but out towards the center gets deceptively deep and the currents run low and strong. It was not a river to ford while on a broken ankle. 

Kaladin didn’t need to point this out, though; Jandel made a mark on his map, and directed them along the shore. “This should be a bit easier for you,” he said to Kaladin, “since the land is flatter and all. Let me know if you need any help, lad.”

“I’ll be alright,” Kaladin reassured him for what was probably the fifth time in an hour. “I’ve kept up so far, haven’t I?”

“You’ve been a good five minutes behind us for at least the last half hour, Kal,” said Kor’ad. 

“Don’t call me that,” Kaladin said. 

“What, Kal?”

“Yeah. Don’t call me that.”

Kor’ad took a breath and opened his mouth like he was going to press the issue, but he glanced back and must have caught a glimpse of the look on Kaladin’s face, because he let it lie. “You were falling behind, though. It’s alright to ask for help every once in a while.”

“I’ll be alright, I swear,” Kaladin insisted. 

“Alright, alright,” Kor’ad said, but still fell back and tried to offer him an arm to lean on anyway. Kaladin pushed him off, and nearly lost his balance on the slick shore, but he didn’t fall. Kor’ad looked concerned. 

“Hey, you two,” Jandel snapped, putting away the map. “Don’t do anything stupid. We’re almost there.”

“We are?” Kor’ad asked dubiously. “It should be another day at least.”

“Shortcut,” Jandel said.

“Right,” Kor’ad scoffed. “We were going straight as we could. How much shorter can this detour…take us…” he trailed off, squinting into the mist, as the low hum of the moving water started to sound somewhat… _louder_. Jandel walked directly into the gloom, and then seemed to suddenly vanish. 

Kor’ad started. “Jandel, you still there?”

“Yeah,” he called back. Come forwards a bit.”

Kaladin and Kor’ad both walked forwards, towards the strange fog. The rushing noise grew louder, and louder…suddenly Kaladin’s mind screamed out a warning, and he stopped. “Jandel, how high is this cliff?”

“It’s a cliff?” Kor’ad asked.

“Not too high,” said Jandel. As they got closer, the density of the fog lifted, but not by much. “And the waterfall is the best way past this ridge.”

“How in fates do you expect Kaladin and his damned broken ankle to go down a waterfall?” Kor’ad asked, bristling. 

“How in fates do _you_ expect to go down a waterfall?” Kaladin shot back. “You could die.”

“None of us are going down the waterfall,” Jandel said. “There’s a passageway, and besides. The cliff goes up.”

“This passageway. Is it flooded?” asked Kaladin, noting what looked like six or seven different, large, streaming channels of water leaking from the rock face.

“No.”

“Are you _sure_?” asked Kaladin.

“No.”

“Great!” said Kor’ad. “Have you ever even been here?”

“No!” Jandel yelled, bristling. The older man whirled on Kaladin and Kor’ad, looking exasperated. “I’ve lived on the other side of the el-cursed Boundary since I was born, same as you two. But this el-cursed map should be good, you _know_ that. Our el-cursed contacts _insisted_ that this was how you got to the el-cursed city, and you best believe we’re following the el-cursed thing. You can go off on your el-cursed own, or you can go down the el-cursed path, but I expect you will at least listen to me when I say I know damn well where we’re el-cursed going!”

Kor’ad scowled. “You’ve kept me—kept the both of us—in the fates-damned dark about everything you’ve done. Hells, man, you’re so damned secretive I don’t even know the name of the fates-cursed town we’re supposed to be going to! We,” he said, gesturing to Kaladin and himself wildly, “have been taking a lot on damned trust. And now we find out you don’t _know_ this area any more than I do. Fates, do you see how hard it is to trust you right now? I swear, there’s nothing that you have done all this entire fates-cursed time we’ve been traveling to make me any more inclined to trust you!”

Kaladin nodded. “I’ve not been with you for long, but I don’t know anything about you other than your _name_. I’ve known less secretive spies, for Jezerezeh’s sake.”

“For _what_?”

“Nothing important,” he said. “You need to give us _something_ that we can trust. All we know is that you have a map, and some secretive ally giving you instructions. Will you at least tell us where in fates we’re going?”

“Yeah!” Kor’ad jumped on. “You might as well tell us that.”

“Can’t it _wait_?” Jandel asked, sounding exhausted. “I have to find the el-cursed path in this el-cursed fog, and I don’t even know how to pronounce the el-cursed name myself.” 

“Can’t be that hard,” said Kaladin, who scarcely knew how to read himself. “Let me have a crack at it.”

Jandel closed his eyes, biting back a sigh. “Can we get over this damn ridge first? I just put the el-cursed map away.”

“Fine by me.” Kor’ad glared at him, but Kaladin just shrugged. “It doesn’t make that much of a difference.”

And they followed Jandel’s lead to find the passageway. 

* * *

They cleared the ridge, and made it through the trees, and Kaladin read the map and learned that the town was called Gahille. They broke for a last meal at nightfall, and ate through the last of Kaladin’s damp supplies; then they went to sleep, with Kor’ad keeping an uneasy watch. 

In the middle of the night, Kaladin was shaken awake. “Hey. Kaladin, hey. Wake up,” Kor’ad whispered. 

“I’m awake,” Kaladin said. 

“Great, but keep your voice down,” Kor’ad hissed. “I don’t want him to wake up and hear us.”

“Why?” Kaladin asked quietly.

“I took the liberty of looking through his things,” Kor’ad explained in a hurried undertone. “I don’t think that the city he tells us we’re going to is actually where we’re going. The path we took seems right, but from what I heard of the attack, and from what I saw in the army…this place is going to be decimated,” he said. “If not outright gone. Now I know that Jandel is a Runner too, but I don’t know what in _fates_ his boss is. Kaladin, I don’t want to die.”

“I’m useless while my ankle is broken,” Kaladin said. “And we’re out of food—”

“That’s the thing,” whispered Kor’ad. “We’re not. Jandel has food, a whole massive bag of it, probably enough to make it for a good two months at least for all three of us. I don’t know why he said he didn’t have any, but…I can’t trust that.”

That _was_ odd. And coupled with the lack of information… “Something is definitely wrong here,” Kaladin whispered back. “Did you find anything else?”

“A couple letters, written in what look like code of some kind,” he said. “And a full suit of a commander’s Telaesthesia. He insisted he’d left that behind.”

“Telaesthesia. Right. Well—hey. Let me up,” he muttered, knocking off Kor’ad’s hand and pushing himself up. “Well, are we going to do something about it, or are we going to let him sleep and confront him?”

“I…I don’t know,” Kor’ad muttered back. “I’d like to get my hands on that food, though. I get the feeling he’s not feeling like sharing it any time soon. And maybe we should just follow him where he’s leading us. I’d like to know what he was trying to get us into.”

“I would too. Here, if you can put his supplies in my pack, that should work. I imagine he’s got all of your things, since you haven’t been carrying anything beside your sword?”

“He does,” Kor’ad said.

“I’m not giving you my bag, so there’s no way that you’re getting mine,” Kaladin said adamantly, “but I haven’t got any secrets to hide from you.” _In the bag, at any rate. There’s nothing in there that would make him even begin to distrust me, except maybe the bandages._

“Alright,” Kor’ad said. “I’ll trust you. But give me reason not to…” he trailed off ominously. Kaladin fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

“It’s too late for threats,” he said. “I won’t betray you, I swear. Just make sure you extend the same courtesy to me, and we’re good.”

Kor’ad nodded in agreement, and Kaladin went back to sleep.


	19. To Not Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gahille.

The sun was just breaking over the horizon, the rays of light scattering the last vestiges of that unpleasant dense fog away under their heat, when Jandel woke Kaladin and Kor’ad. He didn’t seem to notice the theft from his bag—or if he did, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he said “This should be our last day. Rise and shine.”

As Jandel plotted their course for today and Kor’ad tried to scrape off some of the river mud that had begun to coat the sides of his long boots, Kaladin checked over his broken ankle. The swelling, somehow, had started to go down already; he must have been using Essence somehow to heal it. The fractured pieces of the bones were still sliding in and out of alignment, though, and he wasn’t sure if the Essence would just fuse the ankle where it was, like a bone that healed without being set properly, or if the healing power of the Essence would reset the bone to where it was supposed to be. He didn’t particularly want to take that chance, either, and so he retied the bandage splint as well as he could and got his cane and backpack from where they lay on the ground next to him.

“Morning, Kor’ad,” Kaladin said, walking over to them. “Morning, Jandel.”

“Morning, Kaladin,” muttered Jandel, still staring intently at the map. “You can read, can’t you?”

“You can too, right?” Kaladin asked. “Considering you’ve got the map and all, right?”

“Nah,” Jandel said. “Never learned. We always knew I was going into the army, I was the firstborn. Must have been hard to lose your sibling, though.”

 _What?_ Kaladin thought. _How the hell does he know about Tien?_

“Come on, Jandel,” Kor’ad said, putting an arm around Kaladin comfortingly. “Look at him, he’s upset. Why’d you have to go and bring that up?”

“How did you even _know_ about my brother?” Kaladin asked quietly. 

“Wasn’t hard to figure out,” Jandel said, and Kor’ad nodded in silent agreement. Kaladin resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. “You weren’t raised to be a soldier; you said you were going to be a surgeon. Then clearly your older brother must have, er. Passed on, before he could join the army, that led to you being shunted into that position after you was old enough to have learned pretty damn well how to be a doctor. Sorry to have upset you, lad. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s alright,” Kaladin said. _Does every first son in this world have to serve in the army, then?_

“It’s not,” Kor’ad said. “He’s _only_ twenty. That had to have been recent.”

“Why were you asking me if I could read?” Kaladin said, changing the subject.

“I don’t know what this mark says, here,” Jandel said, showing Kaladin a small handwritten note in no language that Kaladin had ever seen nor heard of marked not far from where they were. 

“Neither do I,” he said. “It’s not any language I’ve ever seen. Those mountains aren’t where we need to go, though. They’re in, uh…another country. The border to Desriel.”

Jandel looked at him for a second, and then back at the map. “I was just curious, lad.”

“I just want to get to town, today,” Kaladin shot back. “My ankle’s still fates-cursed broken, and if you hadn’t noticed, we’re still out of food.”

“I…you’re right,” Jandel said. “But I’m…something about this fates-cursed forest don’t feel right to me. We haven’t seen a single damned animal since me and Kor’ad started walking, and el strike me where I stand, but I don’t trust it.”

Kaladin nodded. “Right, so we should get to the town as quickly as possible,” he said. “So that we’re not caught out alone in this place any longer. Are we agreed?”

“Yeah, and a nice hot meal will go a long way to making me feel a bit more human,” Kor’ad said lightly. 

“I agree,” Kaladin said. “Let’s get a move on.”

“I…” Jandel said, looking at them. “You’re right. Let’s get going.”

* * *

When they got close to where Gahille was supposed to be and finally found a road, Kaladin was overjoyed by the idea that he wouldn’t have to force his damned useless ankle through vines and plants any more. And that was great. He really liked that. But now that they were somewhere he would have expected there to be more people, more things just roaming around…Kaladin was _disturbed_. Jandel was right. There was a marked lack of anything other than them living on this side of the Boundary, and it was making him extremely uneasy. 

He was getting a bad feeling about all of this. And especially this mysterious town that they were heading to. 

Kor’ad hung back with Kaladin again as they walked, and they talked aimlessly for a while. But then—

“I think the words on that map might be the same code I saw on those papers in Jandel’s bag,” he said. “Do you think he’s lying about being able to read it?”

“I’m not sure,” said Kaladin, who knew that there was a way to tell if a person was lying, but had no idea how to do it. “Why would he bring it up if he wasn’t serious, though? It drew unnecessary attention to it, whatever it said.”

“I don’t know,” Kor’ad muttered, looking dubous. “He might have heard us speaking about it and realized that we knew he couldn’t be trusted last night, and done this to keep attention off of himself.”

“I doubt it,” Kaladin said. “Just. If we’re putting out possibilities. And even then, what can we possibly do about it?” 

“We…could try and force him to read it,” Kor’ad said. He sounded almost as uncertain as the statement merited. That was _not_ a plan with a very good chance of working.

Kaladin sighed. “There’s no way to know, and there’s nothing we can do about it,” he said in an undertone. “Our best bet is just to keep on guard. Worst comes to worst, we can always leave—there’s only one of him, and two of us.”

“That’s definitely true,” Kor’ad muttered. “Hey, can I call you Kal?”

“No.”

“There has to be some short version of your name,” Kor’ad said. “Back home, everyone used to call me Kory, and my name’s a lot shorter than yours.”

“It’s just Kaladin,” Kaladin said. “I don’t want to be called Kal.”

“Din?” Kor’ad asked, and then wrinkled his nose. “Nah, I don’t want to call you that.”

“Definitely not,” Kaladin agreed. “Seriously. It’s Kaladin.”

“Alright, alright,” Kor’ad said, backing off a bit. “Where are you from, Kaladin? You talk different.”

“We have the same accent,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but you…it’s the little stuff. You say _storms_ instead of _fates_ sometimes. And I know you’ve definitely spent some time in the Citadel, because that’s where my sister is, but you’re almost definitely not a city person.”

“How would you know if I was or wasn’t a city person?” Kaladin asked, dumbfounded. “I’m sure as hell no farmer.” 

“You act like a soldier, but you move more like me than you do like Jandel, and I know for a matter of fact that Jandel grew up in Ilshan Gathdel Teth. You’re way more careful about putting your feet where you won’t trip.”

“I’ve _got_ to be,” Kaladin protested. “My storming ankle is broken!”

“There, see! You said it again. I would’ve said fates-cursed or damned, or something. Not storming, though. You’re definitely from somewhere outside where I’ve ever been.”

“I…” Kaladin trailed off. “You want the story or you want me to tell you honestly?”

“Give me the story, first,” said Kor’ad, “and then I want you to actually tell me. It’s not good to just keep yourself to yourself like that. Me and my first company, we went around in circles for a week, just telling stories about our old lives. Commander insisted on it. It definitely made it easier to leave the past behind us.”

“I don’t _want_ to talk about it,” Kaladin said.

“Don’t care,” Kor’ad said, shoving him playfully. Kaladin stumbled onto his broken ankle, flinching in imagined pain, before he realized the limb could bear weight somehow. Which was bad, because he could still feel that the bones weren’t set properly. They were healing on their own—but it looked like he would have to break and re-set the ankle if this kept up. 

“El take me, I wasn’t thinking!” yelped Kor’ad, trying to catch him. 

“I’m not falling,” Kaladin said.

“You fell sideways, I…isn’t your ankle broken?” he said awkwardly. “I’ve seen broken bones in my time. You shouldn’t be able to stand on that.”

“I have to admit, I’m a little bit confused myself,” Kaladin said. “It’s definitely broken, but it’s almost like the bones are fusing together on their own.”

“Maybe being on this side of the Boundary makes us heal faster,” Kor’ad suggested.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Kaladin said. “Your burns are still just as red.”

Kor’ad gave a grudging nod. “That’s true, they still are. And they still hurt like Shammaeloth’s left asscheek, too.”

“Hey, you two!” Jandel yelled, a few feet up the path. “I think we should be there really soon!”

“Alright.”

“Good,” Kaladin said. “I’m storming starving.”

“Me too, lad,” Jandel said. “Me too.”

“I would kill for a hot meal,” Kor’ad agreed. “How much further do you think it is?”

“Don’t know. Looks like we should already be…here…” Jandel trailed off, waving a hand in front of his face

There was a foul stench on the breeze. It almost seemed familiar to Kaladin, somehow.

They kept walking, and every so often the smell would clear with a fresh gust of wind, but it seemed to be growing stronger and more consistent as they neared the place where they, Kaladin genuinely hoped, would find a town. The road grew wider and gradually changed from dirt to a paved road. There were still no animals, no people. Nothing moved. 

Kaladin had a very bad feeling about this. 

And the smell was reminding him of the chasms on the Shattered Plains…

Kor’ad stopped them both after a while. “I don’t like this,” he said. “I recognize this smell. It’s almost exactly like the Boundary.”

“It is, I’ll give you that,” Jandel said. He sounded troubled.

“I…it smells like death,” Kaladin said. “It smells like dead things, rotting.”

“Are you sure?” Jandel asked Kaladin. “I…just…are you _sure_?”

“Yes,” Kaladin said. “What I wouldn’t give to not be sure, I don’t know, but I don’t think we’re going to find a town when we get where we’re going.”

Jandel nodded, looking conflicted. “They said that we should be safe if we get to this place,” he said. “But I must admit I’m worried. To be frank, I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Neither did I,” said Kor’ad, bristling angrily. “You made that choice for me.”

“We agreed!” Jandel protested. “You told me. You said you would do anything to not die. I agreed. This is anything. We just have to not die.”

Kor’ad grumbled, but didn’t say anything more on the subject, and so they continued. 

The light of day grew brighter as the day cleared, and then they walked into a massive clearing. A low ring of stones surrounded it, pushing up against the trees. Other squares of stones marked out what looked like they could have been the foundations of buildings, once upon a very long time ago. The grass was green and lush, and stuck up from the soil like Cyr’s memories told Kaladin they were supposed to do. 

And there were rotting corpses, nearly skeletons, lining each side of the road. 

Evidently the source of the awful smell, there were bodies…everywhere. There was no doubt that this was all of the people who had ever lived in Gahille, if they had been from Gahille in the first place. Their flesh was rotten, and decrepit, and the weather and probably animals or something had stripped them down to moldy, mushy rotting scraps of meat and shockingly white bone. Even so, Kaladin could see where it looked like different body parts had been sewn onto the corpses in places they shouldn’t have been. Adult heads on the bodies of children, arms and legs attached to the wrong bodies…there was bile in his mouth as he kept walking, and not from the reek of the rotting corpses, either. This was _butchery_. 

This destruction, this _desecration,_ on a scale like this…this was what Kaladin had come across the Boundary to end. This was what Tal’kador left in their wake. Whoever had done this, whoever had clearly been working with Tar’lakor to do such a thing, Kaladin was going to _end them_.

“What in fates…” Kor’ad whispered, stopping just short of the tree line and staring in horror. “What in _fates_ …what, what in fates…”

“El strike me,” swore Jandel, looking back at Kor’ad and then forwards to where Kaladin had gone ahead and was attempting to make his way through this wreck of what had once been a town. “El strike me where I stand, but this is just _wrong_. What…”

Kaladin stopped. Neither Jandel nor Kor’ad had made a move to pass through the road with the bodies on the sides of it.

“What are you two doing?” Kaladin asked, trying not to sound as unsettled as he felt. “This is a road. Best thing we can do is keep going until we get where we end up.”

Kor’ad stopped. “Kaladin, I want to not die.”

“So do I,” Kaladin said, a little bit confused.

“If we go the way that whoever _did_ this went,” Kor’ad explained. “If we go this way, don’t you think that, maybe, we might, oh, I don’t know, die?”

“Take a look around you,” Kaladin said, taking a step towards the two of them. “There’s nothing alive here. Not even animals. There should be birds, at _least._ This… storms, you probably won’t be able to make it if you don’t leave. How would you eat? Provide for yourself? We can’t go back, so we have to go forward.”

Kor’ad squinted at him, glanced covertly at Jandel, and said, “What if there’s a way? For a while, at least?”

“And if they haven’t left?”

“I…”

“And look at this, here. The grass is starting to grow over the places where the houses were knocked down, or burnt, or whatever happened. The…whatever that is, probably a wall, is also being overgrown. This happened a long time ago. It just looks like no one could have bothered to give these people a proper burial.”

“Are you trying to imply that _we_ —?” Jandel exclaimed.

“No. Not enough of us to do the job.”

“A…alright,” Kor’ad jerkily nodded, and walked stiffly through the aisle of corpses for what looked like about three feet before he closed his eyes and flat-out sprinted for the other side. He looked green, and not a small bit horrified. 

_He must have noticed the same things I did,_ Kaladin realized. _About the bodies._

“Jandel? Are you coming?” Kaladin asked, extending his free hand.

“I don’t see that there’s much choice, is there, lad?” Jandel said, a vaguely queasy expression on his face. He very pointedly avoided looking at the dead bodies, and fixed his view somewhere about two inches in front of his feet instead. “Fates, but this place just…” 

“I’m with you,” Kaladin said. 

_I will do it, I swear to the Heralds. I will absolutely destroy whoever was responsible for this, if it’s the last thing that I ever do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i...forgot to write in any living things, like. at all.  
> talk about making your mistakes work for you, lmao


	20. Only One Way Forwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half these plot twists are literally so far from a twist it hurts.

They walked for two days without any incidents. Kor’ad and Kaladin didn’t bring up Jandel’s secret supply of food with the man, but they did eat little bits to keep themselves awake.

And then, Kaladin fell asleep on his watch and woke up with a spider on his storming face.

He cracked open an eye to see what looked like four blurry yellow beads hovering directly above his face. The thing scurried, and Kaladin fought the urge to jerk backwards as he felt it move down from his forehead to his chin. Very, very carefully, he reached out a hand and flicked the bug off, and then realized the implications.

Spiders were _alive_. 

He snapped to attention, hoping that he would see some kind of animal, or at least…something that would prove his suspicions correct. Nothing moved in the distant dark around the fire save the wind. 

But he knew there had to be some things out there, now. At least there was that to keep in mind.

He glanced back at the fire. There was Jandel, asleep. There was Kor’ad’s empty sleeping bag. Everything was as it should—wait. 

_Where’s Kor’ad_? Kaladin realized suddenly, with an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. He squinted towards the camp, but he couldn’t see much past the glow of the fire. He took a few hesitant steps forwards, but he didn’t see anything. _Something is wrong here_.

Something rustled, loudly, in the trees.

Kaladin pointed his spear at it. 

Kor’ad walked back out, absentmindedly tying up his belt. He walked right into the spear-point. 

“Uh…Kaladin?”

“Kor’ad?”

“Can you not point that at my neck?”

“Right,” Kaladin said, putting it down and leaning it on a tree. 

“You alright?” Kor’ad asked. 

“Just a bit jumpy,” Kaladin said. “I think we’re getting out of that weird dead area.”

“What, you saw a squirrel and decided it was a good reason to skewer me for needing to take a piss?”

“I woke up with a spider on my face,” Kaladin offered, and watched as Kor’ad immediately made a horrified face, taking an uncomfortable step towards the fire. “Um. Are _you_ alright?”

“Don’t like spiders,” he said tersely. “I _really_ don’t like spiders.”

“What, a big strong guy like you?” Kaladin joked, but Kor’ad didn’t even grin. 

“Yes.”

“I—do you hear that?” Kaladin asked, something pricking at his senses. 

“You’re imagining things. It’s probably the wind.”

“No, no I think that’s something moving through the forest,” Kaladin insisted. 

“What, really?”

“Yeah, really. Go put out the fire, will you?”

“Are you sure about this, Kal—er, Kaladin? That fire was hard to light.”

Kaladin bit back a sigh, and picked up his spear again. “If I’m not sure, and you don’t, but I _was_ right and we have to fend off a pack of wild axehounds, I’m blaming you,” he said. “Just go put out the storming fire.”

“What in fates is an axehound?” Kor’ad asked, but he still picked up a handful of dirt and threw it over the fire. It didn’t even go down. Kor’ad kept pouring dirt on it until the logs were entirely covered, and only then the flames went out. 

Kaladin peered out into the darkness. 

The rustling was getting louder, and now he could hear the crunch of heavy footfalls on sticks and fallen leaves. There was no doubt that something was out there. 

“Seriously,” Kor’ad hissed. “What’s an axehound?”

“Be quiet, just for a minute,” Kaladin hissed back. 

“I—”

“Shh!”

“Ugh, fine.”

The crunching grew louder, and Kor’ad slowly, silently, crept back to shake Jandel awake. It only took a moment, and then the older man rolled into a crouch and drew his sword. Kor’ad did the same. They were none of them interested in taking too many unnecessary risks. 

Jandel signalled something with his hand, and Kaladin had been around enough soldiers to know what they were doing, so when both he and Kor’ad got into a two-point configuration on one side of the smoldering fire, Kaladin took his place at the last corner. They were ready for whatever came. And they would defend themselves. 

That said, they were wholly unprepared for what looked like two teenagers to come tumbling out of the spaces between the trees. 

“Who are you?” Kor’ad asked levelly, trying very hard to not point his unsheathed sword at any of the children. The taller one stood up, a hand on her hip. 

“I’m Serin,” she said brightly. “You guys have any food?”

“I wish,” Kor’ad grumped. “We’ve been out of supplies for almost two days now.”

Serin glanced at him, and then to Kaladin and Jor’ad. 

“Who’s your friend?” Jandel asked dubiously. 

“His name’s Ellian. Ellian, say hi.”

“I don’t want to say hi,” Ellian said. Kaladin pegged him as about twelve at the maximum. He had a massive mop of curly black hair, and Kaladin couldn’t see anything about him past it. 

“Where did you two come from?” Kaladin asked. 

“I met her while I was traveling,” Serin said. “To Gahille.”

“Don’t go to Gahille!” Kor’ad said quickly. “Definitely don’t go to Gahille! It’s not a place for, uh…”

“We know what’s in Gahille, stupid,” Ellian said. He had an attitude. Kaladin immediately liked him. 

“So why in _fates_ would you want to go there?” Kor’ad asked, taken aback. 

“Had family up there,” Serin shrugged. “I want to find what happened to them.” Ellian made a noise of assent. 

“I don’t think that you do,” Kaladin said. “I’m serious. It was…grisly.”

“Grisly,” Ellian said dubiously. “I saw what happened in Ilin Ilan after the red-haired Gifted attacked. _That_ was grisly. This is just a bunch of dead bodies.”

“It was still awful,” Kaladin said. “They weren’t just dead. They were dead and rotting. Turned my stomach. You don’t want to go there.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Serin said, looking faintly unimpressed. “But we’re still going. If you’re that worried, maybe you should accompany us.”

“And we’re _fates-cursed hungry_ ,” Ellian said angrily. “You really don’t have even a scrap of bread to spare us, dammit?”

“Uh. Ellian,” Kaladin said. “Where did you say you were coming from?”

“Ilin Ilan,” he said. “Down south a while.”

“How far is it?”

“Um. Took me a fair month or so to get here. And I wasn’t going that fast, though.”

“Neither will we,” Kaladin said. “Thanks for the tip, kid.”

“You can thank me with some _food,”_ he insisted. “I’m so storming hungry I’ve considered eating _her_.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Serin said, looking at Ellian askance. “I would rather not be eaten.”

“Come on,” Ellian said, brushing the hair out of his face just enough that Kaladin could see one eye. He looked like he was joking. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought the same thing.”

“I certainly haven’t!” she sniffed. “Look what I have to deal with. This little monster.”

“You don’t _have_ to travel together,” Jandel suggested. “Look, this isn’t a safe place for a couple of kids. You should come with us. We’re heading south, but trust me when I tell you that you really don’t want to head into Gahille. We’ll do what we can to get you your damn food,” he said, cutting off Ellian, “but we don’t promise anything. So do we have a deal?”

“Sounds good by me,” Serin said, but Ellian adamantly shook his head. “I’m going to Gahille,” he said. 

“It’s another three day’s walk,” Kaladin cautioned him, and he blinked. 

“What, really. Three days. Oh no. Thats such a big deal, wow, I’m going to fall to the ground in tears. That’s a terrifying prospect.” The kid snorted. “I’ve been on this road for almost a month. Three days isn’t going to kill me, uh, spear-man.”

“Three days without food might, though,” Kaladin said. “There’s nothing in these forests.”

Ellian squinted at him. “You can’t tell me that there’s _nothing_ to eat out here. No plants or anything?”

“Nothing that looked edible.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

“Why would I lie about that?” Kaladin asked.

“Ellian,” Serin said. “Maybe we should just trust the man with the spear. He’s already been to the town.”

“Yes, please trust the man with the spear,” Jandel suggested. “We don’t want you two to _die_.”

Ellian glared at him. 

Jandel grinned back, trying very, very hard to look harmless.

“How old are you?” he suddenly asked, pointing at Kaladin.

“Older than you,” he shot back.

“Yeah, yeah. How old is your friend?” the kid asked. 

“I don’t know, exactly,” Kaladin said. “I know he,” he said, gesturing at Kor’ad, “is in his twenties, and Jandel over there is thirty or something, but I don’t know for sure. I’m twenty, myself.”

“I’m fifteen,” Ellian said. Kaladin resisted the urge to call him on the obvious lie. “Serin’s eighteen. So none of us are that young. You’re not the damn Northwarden. Don’t tell me what we can or can’t do.”

“I’m not telling you what to do,” Kaladin said, trying not to sigh. “I’m trying to _help_ you. There’s nothing worth finding in Gahille, and I’m telling you there’s no food or anything. I don’t want you to storming _starve_ to death.”

“I won’t starve to el-cursed death,” Ellian said. 

“Are you sure?” Kaladin countered.

“No, but you damn well aren’t either, so you can knock it the hell off.”

“Where’d you get a mouth like that?” Jandel cut in.

“Ilin Ilan,” he answered curtly.

“You’re sure you’re not going to stick with us?” Kaladin asked, just to be certain. “Last chance.”

He wavered. Clearly, this kid wasn’t as adamant as he’d let them think he was. “No, I’m going to Gahille,” he said finally, but he didn’t sound happy about it. 

“I’m not,” Serin said. “I’m going to stay with you guys.”

Kaladin smiled in response, but he was already worried about Ellian. He had an idea, but it relied on Jandel not being around…

* * *

That night, when everyone else was asleep, Kaladin picked up his bag and snuck out of camp for just a few minutes. 

“Ellian?” he called.

The kid was just where Kaladin expected him to be, which was right outside their camp. He looked exhausted. And hungry.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked, glaring.

“I have something for you,” Kaladin said softly. “It was Jandel’s, but he kept it a secret, and we don’t want him to know we have it. So you can’t tell anyone. 

And he extended a cracker and a strip of meat to the boy. He immediately scarfed it down.

“Thanks, spear-man,” Ellian said, mouth full of food. 

“Please,” said Kaladin, offering a smile and another cracker. “Call me Kaladin.”


	21. Freeze-Frame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who's down for some Character Development? 
> 
> this chapter features Ellian being Ellian, nicknames, Serin, Kaladin being Kaladad, Kor'ad being _stressed_ , and the unfortunate nicknames of Blister, Scar-face and Maps.

After Kaladin’s turn on watch ended and he went to sleep, he was tired to the core of his _bones_. His ankle had healed all wrong and was stuck that way, and he didn’t know how to fix it so far; he suspected trauma-induced ankylosis, but he didn’t have any way to treat it. Limping around was better than being unable to support any weight, but he couldn’t move the storming joint, and he was _not_ happy about it. 

He had scarcely drifted off when someone tapped his shoulder lightly. “Kaladin,” whispered Serin, trying very delicately to wake him up. “Kaladin, wake up.”

Kaladin opened his eyes. It was still pitch-black out.

“Morning?” he said blearily. 

“No, not quite,” she said, “but I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can, apparently, anyone else in this entire camp,” Kaladin pointed out. Both sleeping bags lay empty next to the dull ashes of the fire.

“Maybe so,” she said.

“Who’s on watch now?” Kaladin asked, pushing himself up so that he was sitting. There was grass in his hair.

“Still the guy who doesn’t have burns all over his face,” she said. “But I’m…I’m kind of scared. I don’t know any of these people.”

“You don’t know me either,” Kaladin pointed out.

“You still seem more trustworthy than the other two,” she said softly. This whole thing was making Kaladin a little bit uncomfortable.

“Why would I be more trustworthy? You haven’t even known me for a full day.”

“You insisted we didn’t go to Gahille,” she said. “And you fed Ellian. That makes you safer than either of them.”

Kaladin considered it. “Why did you wake me up?”

“I told you. I’m scared and I can’t sleep.”

“Right. And you…woke me up because?”

“You’re a big strong man,” she said, her fingers trailing lightly over the back of Kaladin’s hand. He fought the urge to yank the limb away from her. This was making him _profoundly_ uncomfortable.

“So is Kor’ad, and so is Jandel,” Kaladin said. “Unless you’re afraid of them?”

“I’m afraid of everything. Ever since the invasion.”

“You don’t seem very afraid of me.”

“You seem different.” She was holding his hand. Why in fates was she holding his hand. What the hell was this?

“I’m not that different,” Kaladin said awkwardly. “Go get some sleep. We won’t let the axehounds get you or anything.”

“Can I stay here? With you?” she asked suddenly, insistently. _Oh_. 

“No,” Kaladin said. 

She tilted her head. “Are you sure? It could be—nice.”

“Yes.” Kaladin hoped he sounded as adamant as he wanted to. “I don’t want that. Good night, Serin.”

She turned away. “G’night, Kaladin,” she said quietly, and walked away. She didn’t take the uncomfortable jittery feeling in his stomach with her, though.

Kaladin, for his part, found it difficult to sleep that night. 

* * *

That morning, Kaladin woke up late to a merrily crackling fire, a _storming_ bug on his storming shirt, and a storming massive headache. Oh, and his storming blasted ankle, the not-broken-but-still-not-healed-one, it hurt like it had been stepped on by a chull. He gingerly pressed his fingers against it—it was incredibly swollen and hot. That was never a good sign. 

“Morning, Kal,” Kor’ad said. 

“Don’t call me that,” Kaladin said back, standing up and scanning the camp to see if he could find where the other man was standing. 

He looked awful. Some of hte blisters in the burns on his face had popped, and the skin on one entire half of his face was cracked and bloodied, as though he’d hit the ground hard and landed right on that side of his head. Dark circles stained the space below his eyes. And he looked _miserable_. 

The only other person who’d worn an expression anything like that had been Meldier. Kaladin very much did not want to consider the implications of that. 

And behind him, scowling fiercely and being dragged by one arm, was Ellian. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Kaladin asked Kor’ad. 

“He was trying to get into Jandel’s pack,” Kor’ad explained. “Probably went through your stuff, too.”

“He’s a _kid_ ,” Kaladin said, exhaustion lending an edge to his tone. “Let go of him, man.”

“Kaladin, I have a really bad feeling about all of this. Can i—talk to you?”

“Let Ellian go, first,” he said. 

“No, really, that’s what I need to tell you about,” Kor’ad said insistently. 

Kaladin fixed him with a glare. “You’re going to let Ellian go, Kor’ad. Then we can talk.”

Kor’ad looked down at Ellian, and back to Kaladin. “Kal, you have to—”

“Don’t _call_ me that!” Kaladin snapped. 

“Fates, what the hell is wrong with you?” Kor’ad snapped back. 

“What is wrong with _you_? Let go of the damned kid,” Kaladin insisted. Ellian tugged his hand away from Kor’ad and sprinted to stand beside Kaladin. 

“There. See? He’s gone. What do you _want_?” Kor’ad said angrily. “I think we’re all in el-cursed danger, and you’re not even listening to me!”

“You haven’t started saying anything worth hearing,” Kaladin said. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you dragging a twelve year old around like a storming ragdoll.”

“I’m thirteen and a half,” Ellian blurted. “I mean fifteen.”

“The sound of you dragging a thirteen year old around like a storming ragdoll, then,” Kaladin said. “What in fates were you doing?”

“I think he’s an Echo,” Kor’ad blurted. 

“A what?” Ellian asked. But Kaladin knew what an Echo was, at least. Cyr’s memories resurfaced once again. _A dead body, with the mind of an ancient monster inside of it, pretending to be human until they strike…_

“Echoes can’t eat anything,” Kaladin said pointedly. 

“Your point?”

“I…you know,” he said, looking significantly at Jandel. The man in question was carefully studying the map. “I think we can safely rule that out of the question.”

“Will you tell me what in fates is going on?” Ellian said. “What’s an el-forsaken Echo?”

“Bad news,” Kor’ad said grimly. 

“I wasn’t asking you, scar-face,” Ellian said dismissively. 

“They’re trouble, basically,” Kaladin said. 

Ellian waited. 

“…You’re not going to give up until I actually tell you what an Echo is, are you?” Kaladin asked

“Nope,” Ellian said. 

“You can’t tell a _kid—_ ” Kor’ad said, and then cut himself off. 

“You can’t drag a kid around by my damn arm, either, but you still did it,” Ellian said. “Kaladin can tell me whatever he damn well wants, and I sure as hell want to know what in _fates_ you were so damned scared of.”

Kaladin stepped in between the child and the soldier. “An Echo is when you take a dead person, and through some really terrible magic, make them into…not a person, and certainly not dead. And they work for the enemy,” he said.

“So like what happened to Paranthe and the army?” Ellian asked. 

“I don’t _know_ what happened to the army,” Kaladin shot back, but Kor’ad gave him a look. 

“If we’re spilling everything,” he said heavily, “then probably. The enemy, they had a method, and that was part of it.”

“That’s cool as all hell,” Ellian said. “Hey, Map, over there, you know what an Echo is too?”

Jandel’s hackles visibly rose before he turned to look at the three of them. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me how to make one?” Ellian asked Kaladin intently.

“ _No_ ,” Kaladin said. 

“I want an Echo,” said Ellian brightly. 

“You do _not_ ,” said Kaladin. “And where are you going to get a host, anyway? I hope you’re not planning to kill any of us.”

“There’s a bunch of bodies up in Gahille,” he said. “I want a scary Echo bodyguard.”

“That won’t work,” Kaladin said shortly. “Look, just forget about the Echoes. 

“Fine, whatever,” Ellian said. “Hey, where’s Serin?”

“I don’t know,” Kaladin said.

“She’s trying to get your messes cleaned up,” Serin said from behind them. “Morning, Kor’ad, Kal.”

“I don’t like to be called that,” Kaladin said. 

“He really doesn’t,” Ellian added helpfully. “Damn near took off Scar-face’s head for calling him that.”

“I did _not_ ,” Kaladin said. “I just don’t like it, is all.”

“And can _you_ not call me that?” Kor’ad said pointedly. “Scar-face, I mean. My name is Kor’ad.”

“Whatever you say, Blister,” Ellian said. 

“ _Kor’ad_.”

“Look, I’m either calling you Scar-face or Blister. Take your pick.”

Kor’ad bit down on whatever he almost said. “It’s…fine. Scar-face.”

“Thought so,” Ellian said, and then for good measure threw in, “Scar-face.”

“Ellian, you don’t need to be _awful_ ,” Serin said. “Just call the man Kor’ad, for El’s sake. He’s got a sword, you know.”

“I resent that,” Kor’ad said. “I’m not going to _stab_ him.”

“Or slash me, or hack me, or prod with a shiny metal stick?” Ellian suggested. “Don’t do any of _that_ , either, thanks.”

Kor’ad grinned. “Alright, kid. Can I call you Li?”

“Might as well,” Ellian said, “seeing as I’ve been calling you Scar-face.”

Serin finished doing whatever it was she had been doing, and handed Kaladin a pile of folded bedrolls. “Can you pack those up? We need to be leaving soon if we want to get back to Ilin Ilan.”

“Yeah,” Kaladin said, and went to do that. She followed him. _Storms._

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said quietly.

“Alright,” Kaladin said. _How in fates do I respond to that_?

“But have you reconsidered?” she asked.

“My answer is still no,” Kaladin said. “The answer will always be no. That’s just the way it is.”

“You’re barely a year older than me,” she said. 

“I’m not _interested_ ,” Kaladin said. “I’m really not. And I think you just want a friend, not…that.”

“You really aren’t going to change your mind?”

“ _No_.”

“I…understand,” she said. “Let’s get this fates-cursed stuff packed up, can we?”

“That’s literally what we’re doing right now,” Kaladin said, stuffing the first bedroll into his own pack.

“Is it, though?” she grunted, shoving the other two into Jandel’s larger bag. 

“Yes, it is. Look, they’ve all been put away, now,” Kaladin said, shoving the last two into his own bag. “There. Problem solved.”

“See, I thought we were getting to know one another,” Serin said, mock-pouting.

“I can multitask,” Kaladin said. 

She backed off, though she was grinning faintly. “Alright, alright. You can relax,” she said. 

“Not really,” Kaladin said. “We have a long walk ahead of us, and my ankle is killing me.”

“Your _ankle_?”

“My ankle,” Kaladin confirmed. “I broke it a while ago, and it hasn’t really healed.”

“But you’re _walking_.”

“Limping, more like,” he said. She laughed. 

“How’d a big strong guy like you break your ankle that badly?” she asked. 

“How—falling wrong, obviously. It wasn’t a bad break, it was just never treated. ”

“Oh,” she said. “ _Wait_. Why didn’t you _do_ something about it?”

“I _did_ ,” he said. “It wasn’t enough.”

“Well, not you. A doctor, or something.”

“I’m a surgeon by trade,” he said. 

“Right.”

“No, seriously.”

“You’re not a surgeon, you’re clearly a soldier,” she said. “I grew up in a family of career soldiers. You can’t fool me.”

“I can be both.”

“Sure you can.”

“There, now you’ve got it right, I sure can.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a field medic, though,” she said. “Front line soldier, maybe. You can certainly handle the spear like it’s nobody’s business, and I wouldn’t be anywhere near surprised to learn that that sword you have strapped to your hip is no toy in your hand either.”

“Guess again,” he said, pulling it out. “I haven’t the _faintest_ idea how to use this. No one—” that is, none of the Venerate— “bothered to train me, just stuck it in my hands and said ‘fight.’”

She blinked. “Huh.”

“It is what it is,” he said. 

They chatted until Jandel said he’d plotted a course for the day.


	22. Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no. An actual Echo.

Kaladin went to sleep that night amid fog and cold wind. There had been the beginnings of a storm, somewhat akin to those of the Weeping, and as the rain started to fall from the sky a heavy, dense fog had descended. The fire refused to stay lit. It was difficult to sleep, but Kaladin could manage it. He was _exhausted_. 

A loud noise of indiscernible origin woke him up. The camp, and the forest as a whole, were pitch-black and someone was yelling and he couldn’t _see_ anything and something was happening to his left, he could hear the sounds of something thrashing and leaves crunching and was that the gleam of a knife? No—maybe—he couldn’t tell what was happening, and he blindly fumbled around for his spear. There was the whoosh of something heavy being swung through the air, and a dull thud of impact, and then there was silence save for the sound of someone’s heavy breathing. 

Someone gasped raggedly, and then fell silent.

“What just happened?” Kaladin called out.

There was no answer.

“Kor’ad? Jandel? Who’s on watch?” he asked, using the handle of his spear as a crutch to drag himself to his feet. 

“I am,” said Kor’ad weakly, from somewhere to his left. Somewhere near where the, the, the whatever-it-was that had woken Kaladin up had happened. 

“What happened?” Kaladin repeated.

“I don’t know,” said Kor’ad. “You should go back to sleep.”

“I’ll take watch,” Kaladin offered instead, taking up a point at the edge of the road. “Get some sleep.”

Kor’ad sighed. “I’ll do my best.”

Neither of them got any sleep.

* * *

Kaladin was effectively blind until morning. The sun slowly broke over the horizon, and bled its light through the clouds and over the shockingly red spill of blood that lay in the space between where Serin’s lifeless body and her _head_ had fallen.

It looked like she had not only been decapitated, but stabbed in the stomach as well. It was _harrowing._ Dark red, sticky blood stained her shirt and the stump where her neck had been. Deformed chips of bone stuck from the mass of severed flesh. It had to have been one, single clean blow. That didn’t make it any less awful.

Kaladin didn’t know what the hell had happened, but she was _nineteen_ and now she was _dead_ in the middle of the _camp_ and _Kor’ad had done it._

The longer he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t know anything about the man. He was the sibling of someone he’d known for three days, a soldier for about half of Kaladin’s lifespan, and apparently a friendly, if somewhat suspicious man—but they didn’t tell one another things, they didn’t know each other, and Kaladin had no idea if he’d ever done something like this or not. 

He would let him explain himself, and why he felt it necessary to commit murder in the dead of night when he should have been protecting them as they slept. And if he couldn’t make a case for himself, Kaladin would…he called on Cyr’s memories, searching for what he could do. He would do what… _needed_ to be done. 

* * *

“ _Wake up_ ,” Kaladin hissed. 

“Mmph?” Kor’ad grunted, squirming. “Kal—adin?”

“Get up,” he said, louder.

“—it’s morning yet?”

“Just barely,” Kaladin said. “You’re the only one I’m waking up.”

Kor’ad opened his eyes and glanced around blearily. “Fates…” he said, and kicked off the bedroll and stood up. He looked at the body, and then back at the spear Kaladin had leveled at his chest. He spread his hands above his head. They were trembling, ever so slightly, and Kaladin pretended not to see. “Kaladin, wait.”

Kaladin had been looking at him, and so he saw before it happened when Kor’ad started to run. He twisted, trying to sprint away, but Kaladin tackled him and knocked him to the ground. 

“Kor’ad, stop _struggling_ ,” Kaladin said. “Stop it.”

Kor’ad tried to pick himself up off the ground, and Kaladin put his knee in between the older man’s shoulder blades to stop him from getting up. Kor’ad kept trying to move, but Kaladin had him immobilized, and they both knew it. 

“I want to not die,” Kor’ad said. 

“I don’t want to kill you,” said Kaladin.

“That doesn’t help me much.”

“In what way does me _not_ wanting to kill you not help you?” Kaladin asked. 

“You want justice, and to help people,” said Kor’ad. “You don’t want to kill me. I want to not die. I don’t want to hurt anyone. But we all do distasteful things in the service of what we want.” 

Kaladin grimaced. “Um. Alright. Why did you kill Serin?”

“I wanted to not die. And I wanted for the rest of us to also not die.”

“To not die, not to live?”

“What?” Kor’ad asked. 

“You always say that. You and Jandel. ‘I want to not die.’”

“Living is just not being dead for another day,” Kor’ad said. “I don’t want to be dead.”

“Life before death,” Kaladin muttered. 

“I like that,” said Kor’ad. “Death follows life.”

 _That’s not what I said_ , Kaladin thought, _and that statement is wrong_. “No. Life before death.”

“Yeah. Death after life.”

“No. Life, life comes before death,” Kaladin said. He wasn’t sure how to explain it properly. “It’s…life is more important.”

“Death is omnipresent.”

“So is life, if you want to look at it like that,” said Kaladin. “I don’t want to discuss philosophy with you, Kor’ad. Why in the _hell_ did you kill Serin?”

“She was an Echo,” said Kor’ad. 

“Yeah, just like Ellian’s a fates-cursed Echo.”

“Look,” said Kor’ad. “There was a reason I was so convinced that one of them had to be an Echo, and that’s because when the army comes through there _had_ to be Echoes. Usually kids, but sometimes women…anyone they think won’t be suspected. You know.”

“Why would there be Echoes? Kor’ad, why in the _hell_ were you so convinced that they were Echoes? There’s something I don’t know.”

“Because of Gahille.”

“Gahille,” Kaladin repeated. 

“Didn’t you realize?” Kor’ad said, and then. “Fates, you _didn’t_. Gahille was _us_. We did that. You, and me, and our sisters and brothers. That was _us_.”

“I’m not following you,” said Kaladin.

There was horror in Kor’ad’s voice. “Didn’t you see the bodies? The destruction of the town, the way that the people were butchered, the way that they were cut apart and put together again, fates, even the way they were lined up. You didn’t recognize it? The army that invaded Gahille was _our army_. Maybe not us personally, but it…it was _us_. And there was a very specific pattern, you can’t tell me you didn’t learn that. ‘When you level a town, the survivors become Echoes.’ Remember that? Gahille, the people who died in Gahille, that was _our fault._ It’s on us, everyone who put on the damn armor and everyone who ordered us to, right back to the top. It’s killing me inside. And I…I want to not die.”

“You’re not saying the _Venerate_ condoned that,” Kaladin said. It felt like the world was spinning on its axis. 

“’Course they did,” Kor’ad said. “Gassandrid’s visions, and Alaris’s orders, and all in service of some lofty goal we lowly soldiers couldn’t possibly comprehend, yeah?”

“ _Alaris’s_ orders? Not Meldier?”

“Meldier hadn’t even turned up until a month ago, were you living under a rock or something?" 

“Alaris’s orders were _this_?”

“Yes?”

Kaladin closed his eyes. Cyr’s memories screamed that this was _not_ anything that Alaris would ever do, but Cyr’s mind had led him wrong before. _We all do distasteful things in the service of what we want_. 

“Why did you kill Serin?” he asked again, instead of thinking any further on what his once-friend had done.

“I told you, she was an Echo,” he said. 

“How did you know?” 

“I offered her some of the food from Jandel’s stores,” he said. “She refused it. Said she wasn’t hungry.”

Kaladin thought about it. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“No. Not really. She said that Ellian had gotten her something out of your bag, and I believed her. She said she wanted to take watch, and so I went to go to sleep.”

“Did she even know how to watch a camp?” Kaladin asked.

“She said she could, and I believed her.”

“So then what?”

“I didn’t sleep. I kept. Well. Obsessing over Gahille,” said Kor’ad. “It was pitch-dark, but I could hear her moving around. Suddenly, she’s standing over by Jandel and taking his sword out of his pack. I sleep with mine on me, but you two don’t. I could hear her taking the sword out. So she’s standing over Jandel, pointing a sword at him, and I get up and go ‘what are you doing?’”

“What did she say?” Kaladin asked, when it became clear he wasn’t continuing.

“She didn’t. She just swung at Jandel, where he was sleeping. I caught the swing on the flat of my sword, and then she came after me. And I mean…the reflexes I have, they’re from nine years in an army learning how to fight for my life, and it just…I stabbed her in the chest.”

“She’s missing her _head_ , now,” Kaladin said. “That should have killed her, Echo or none.”

“It didn’t,” said Kor’ad. “So I panicked.”

“Right, and now Ellian, our resident actual thirteen year old, is going to see the only person he knows in this damn traveling camp lying dead on the ground with her head a few feet away.”

“What did you want from me, Kaladin?” asked Kor’ad. “I did what I had to do to keep Jandel from dying.”

“I’m going to let you get up,” said Kaladin. “We need to… _do_ something about the mess.”

“We do,” said Kor’ad. 

Kaladin stopped kneeling on Kor’ad’s back, and stepped back towards the camp. “I don’t think I need to tell you this,” he said. “But I will do what I need to if it turns out you were lying to me.”

“I wouldn’t want you to do anything else,” said Kor’ad. “Now, well… We should do what needs to be done.”


	23. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout falls out

Kaladin did his best to help Kor’ad clear the body out of the middle of the campground, but it wasn’t exactly the best. They moved the, er, remains of Serin’s body into the dense forest and gave her a decent, if shallow, grave, but chips of bone and specks of viscera still littered the ground. The sleeves of Kaladin’s shirt were stained a sticky, dried-blood brown, and neither of them had access to water enough to wash it off. Since it was raining, Kor’ad left a bucket out, but the light drizzle wasn’t filling it nearly as quickly as Kaladin would have liked. 

They worked in silence.

The sun came up, slowly, but the heavy overcast clouds stayed where they were. The rain intensified a little bit, but then stopped. Both of them were still coated in Serin’s blood. 

Jandel, being Jandel, woke himself up. He took a look around. “Kaladin?”

“Jandel, you’re awake,” Kaladin said. 

“I am that,” Jandel said. “Are you okay? Were we attacked? You should have woken us up…where’s Kor’ad?”

Kaladin glanced over to where Ellian had burrowed underneath his own cloak and the bedroll Kaladin had lent him. “Not here,” he said. 

“I can see that, but where is he?” Jandel asked, grin slipping.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kaladin said. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’ll explain, just…not here, not right now.”

Jandel looked at him. “Well, in that case, I may as well wake up the others—”

“Don’t do that!” Kaladin said quickly. “Don’t do that. Definitely do not do that.”

“Did something happen to Kor’ad?” Jandel asked, squinting at Kaladin. “I don’t think you would do anything to him, son, but this is highly suspicious.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Kaladin said. “If you really want to talk about _suspicious_ , you should go talk to Kor’ad. He’s cornered the market.”

“I’d trust that man with my life,” Jandel said.

“I…can you please come a little bit out of the camp so I can tell you what happened?”

Jandel made a face that suggested he had just swallowed a lemon. “Kor’ad comes with us.”

“That’s the plan,” Kaladin said.

Jandel pushed back his bedroll and stood up, biting back a yawn. “Where did you want to take me? And where’s Kor’ad?”

Kor’ad was trying to wash his face with the water in the bucket. Jandel didn’t see him. Instead, the leader of their party fixed his eyes on the stained, still-sticky patch of ground on the other side of the spot where their campfire had refused to light. 

“Did an Echo get him?” Jandel asked softly. 

“She didn’t,” said Kaladin. “But I…have doubts.”

“You have doubts.”

“Yes.”

“It was Serin, then?” Jandel asked. “I thought for sure it was Ellian.”

“So did Kor’ad.”

“That’s true,” said Jandel. He stalked over to the side of the camp that was drenched in blood, trailing his fingers over the sticky earth. “Ellian isn’t going to be happy to find out about this. Where’s the body?”

“Buried. Buried over that way,” Kaladin said, pointing to the east. “We went maybe ten feet out, but we figured she deserved something more than just being dumped in the woods, and there wasn’t any way we were going to get a pyre lit in this weather.”

“I appreciate that,” said Jandel. “I hate having to kill kids.”

There was a small noise from behind them, and Kaladin bit back a swore. That would be Ellian. 

“You don’t make a habit of it, then,” Kaladin said. “Only when your life is in danger. Right?” _Please, Ellian, please don’t go do something stupid, please…_

__

“I’m not an _animal_ ,” Jandel bit out. “What in _fates_ do you take me for?”

__

There was another small noise behind them, like that of a child moving around very, very carefully. 

__

“A soldier,” Kaladin said. 

__

“A defector,” Jandel insisted. “I left that all behind me. I don’t want anything to do with it, and you best remember that.”

__

“Not everyone in this camp knows everything about one another,” Kaladin said meaningfully. 

__

Jandel’s eyes widened. “ _Oh_. El, I didn’t even think about that. And it _was,_ you know, because of an Echo?”

__

“I don’t know,” Kaladin said. “I wasn’t there.”

__

“Oh.”

__

“Yep.”

__

There was another of those soft shuffling noises, and then Kor’ad let out a yelp. Both Kaladin and Jandel whirled to see Ellian pressing a worn-looking hunting knife to Kor’ad’s throat. 

__

“Ellian, what are you doing?” Kaladin asked. 

__

“You didn’t see it?” the boy shouted. “You telling me you didn’t see it? Because I did. You—he—Scar-face murdered Serin, and he _lied_ about it!”

__

“Did you see what happened?”

__

“I didn’t sleep!” he said. 

__

“So she didn’t take Jandel’s sword,” said Kaladin. 

__

Ellian looked down for a second, and Kor’ad promptly disarmed him. The kid jumped away from the soldier and ran for it, but Kor’ad didn’t follow him. Ellian ended up crashing bodily into Kaladin. 

__

“I’m serious,” Kaladin said. Ellian was shaking, breathing heavy. “She took Jandel’s sword, didn’t she.”

__

“Maybe,” Ellian said.

__

“And she hadn’t eaten anything, as long as you knew her,” Kaladin said.

__

Ellian blinked. “You knew about that?”

__

“She was an Echo,” Jandel and Kor’ad said simultaneously. 

__

“Bullshit,” said Ellian. 

__

“No, really,” Kaladin said. “She was trying to kill Jandel. Kor’ad told me that, anyway.”

__

“You were talking to him,” Ellian accused Kaladin. “Right after it happened, you were talking to him…”

__

“But I couldn’t _see_ anything.”

__

“It wasn’t even all that dark,” Ellian protested.

__

“He had a blanket over his head,” Kor’ad said. “Because it was raining.”

__

“I didn’t ask you, murderer,” Ellian all but snarled. “Is that true?”

__

“Yeah.”

__

“But…” Ellian said. “She never tried to kill me.”

__

“How long did you know her for?” Kaladin asked.

__

“Maybe a day,” Ellian said. “Met her right afore I met you. And the other two.”

__

_Only a day?_ Kaladin thought. _I thought they had at least known each other for a week_.

__

“And you’re sure that she was _not_ an Echo because you knew her for one day,” Jandel said flatly.

__

“She wasn’t dead!” Ellian insisted. 

__

“She was an Echo,” Kaladin said. “It’s not the same as being dead, not really. It’s more like being… _inhabited_.”

__

“You said it kills the person.”

__

“It does,” said Jandel. “But they have to be alive at first.”

__

“But she wasn’t _dead,”_ Ellian insisted. 

__

“She was dead by the time you met her,” Jandel insisted. 

__

“You can’t know that!” Ellian yelled, stepping closer to where Kaladin was. “It’s not true, right?”

__

“It’s true,” Kaladin said. “I know it’s hard, but she could have killed us all.”

__

“I want my knife back,” Ellian said.

__

“I want to not wake up with my throat slit,” said Kor’ad, who was using it to cut the stained patches of cloth from his sleeves.

__

“It’s _my knife_ ,” said Ellian. 

__

“It’s my throat, though,” Kor’ad said, but he finished severing the last bit of cloth and held the knife out, handle-first, towards the three of them. Ellian stared at it motionlessly.

__

“Are you going to come take it back?” Kor’ad asked.

__

“No,” said Ellian.

__

“Why not?” asked Kor’ad.

__

“I don’t trust you,” Ellian said. 

__

Kor’ad sighed, and stood up. The rain seemed to grow harder as he did so, and his red cloak dragged limply in the mud as he walked over to them. He threw the skinning knife into the mud at the kid’s feet. “I’m not going to hurt you, Li,” he said. 

__

Ellian snatched the knife up. “Sure. Definitely.”

__

But he smiled as he said it, and he didn’t run away. And that was something. 

__


	24. Divisions and Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets might tear them all apart.

The camp was as tense as a strung bow as they prepared to leave. Ellian was a storm cloud, and Jandel kept sneaking glances at Kor’ad and Kaladin when he thought they wouldn’t notice. Kaladin himself felt like every nerve in his body were vibrating, as though he had been electrocuted. Kor’ad seemed nonchalant as ever. 

_We can’t continue like this._

“Can we hold up for a minute?” Kaladin asked, leaning his spear against a tree. 

“Why?” Jandel asked. “We need to get somewhere populated, soon as we can.”

“We can’t do that like _this_ ,” Kaladin said, gesturing towards the entire camp as a whole. Kor’ad looked at him quizzically. 

“Why _not_?” asked the burned deserter. “We made it this far.”

“We—no one knows anything about each other,” Kaladin said. “And that would be fine, if you didn’t make it clear that you’re willing to _kill people_ to get what you want.”

“What I want,” said Kor’ad, bristling, ”is to _not die_.”

Ellian threw a pebble at him. “Is that threat enough to make you want to not die?” the kid growled. 

“For the fifth time,” Kor’ad said, “she pulled a sword.”

“Kor’ad,” Jandel said. “Leave it be.”

Kor’ad gave Jandel a look. “If you were me, you would have pulled a knife at that. Sod off.”

“Damnation!” Kaladin said. “I don’t know any of you, and you don’t know me!”

“I don’t know any of you either,” Ellian said.

“I don’t know you, but I trust you to have my back!” protested Kor’ad. “That’s all we need, isn’t it? ‘Sides, you were the one who said you don’t like to talk about the past.”

“The situation has changed,” Kaladin said. 

“Or have you just decided that you’re too fates-cursed curious that your own displeasure doesn’t matter? So long as you get some kind of story out of _me_?”

Kaladin fixed a glare at the ground. “No. The situation _has_ changed. We have Ellian, and there was Serin. It’s important, now. Even though it wasn’t before.”

Kor’ad gave a helpless look at Jandel. 

Jandel blinked at him, slowly. 

“Fine,” said Kor’ad. “Fine. If this is how we’re doing things, we’re going to do it like my old commander had us do this. Everyone sit down in a damn circle. We’re not going anywhere for a long fates-cursed time.”

They did. 

“Someone start a fates-cursed fire, please,” Kor’ad said, winding his hands in his lap so hard that he looked like he was going to snap his fingers. His knuckles were white. “Or I’ll do it myself. I don’t blasted care. We need a fire. Does anyone have any damned kindling? No? I’ll be back.” He got up and charged off into the forest. 

Kaladin couldn’t blame him. It felt like there was something sitting in his stomach, gnawing at him. As though the things he’d failed at, the things he’d done wrong, had grown teeth and were trying to consume him from the inside out. This was awful, but it was…necessary. 

Ellian, where he was sitting, abruptly stretched out on the ground and dropped his head on Kaladin’s lap. “Might as well get comfy, am I right?” the kid asked. 

“I guess,” Kaladin said. He did not make himself any more comfy.

“Soooo…” Ellian said, when it became clear that Kaladin did not have anything more to say. “What’s the redhead’s name? The one with the beard? I’ve been calling him Maps.”

“Jandel.”

“And the other one, the murderer with all the burns?”

“Kor’ad.”

“Right,” said Ellian. “Hey, you ever wonder if there’s anything out there?”

“Out where?” Kaladin felt ill-equipped for this conversation.

“You know, _out there_. Like El. Or the Nine Gods of Desriel, I guess.” 

_One of the Nine Gods is named after me,_ Kaladin realized with a jolt. _Or, well, Cyr. That doesn’t make it any less strange_. “Sometimes,” he said.

“Yeah. Me too. Y’know, I think, if there is a god, they must hate us. People like us.”

Kaladin didn’t say anything. 

“Or. I mean, people like me.”

“Not royalty?”

“You could say that,” Ellian said, rubbing at a circular tattoo on his forearm absentmindedly. 

“Hey, what is that?” Kaladin asked. “On your arm. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Ellian shot up, whirling as if to run for the trees, and then stopped short.

Then he blinked at Kaladin. “ _What_?”

“Is it a tattoo? You’re a little young for that,” Kaladin said.

 _“You’ve_ _never seen a Gifted before_?” he asked, incredulous. 

“…no?”

Ellian sighed, and flopped back down. “I guess I’ll explain when we do the backstory thing, then,” he said. 

“Alright,” said Kaladin. _Gifted? What…_

Jandel came over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Kaladin, can you help me with something on this map?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. Let me see it.”

Jandel reluctantly handed him a rolled-up piece of parchment. Kaladin unfurled it, and Jandel tapped at the same place just over the border to that country, what he thought should be called Desriel. “Can you please tell me why this has this mark here? Can you tell me _anything_? It might be important. _Everything_ on this map seems to lead back to there.”

“I can’t _read_ that,” Kaladin said. “You’ve asked me that before.”

“Can I see?” Ellian asked, peering intently. “It… _holy fates_ ,” the kid breathed. 

“What?” asked Jandel. “Can you read it?”

“Yeah,” said the kid absentmindedly. “It says ‘first location of the unmarked Gifted.’”

“Um,” said Jandel. “Do you know what that means?”

“No,” Kaladin said. 

“No?” asked Ellian. He looked at Jandel. “How do you not _know_?” 

“Um,” said Jandel again. “Oh look, there’s Kor’ad.”

Kor’ad waved awkwardly. He had a pile of sticks and twigs. One of his hands was bleeding. 

“Someone help me out with this fire?”

“Yeah,” Kaladin said, standing up and leaving Ellian and Jandel to their stilted conversation. “Here.”

They worked quietly, but Kaladin was curious. “What’s a Gifted?” he asked Kor’ad in an undertone. 

Kor’ad tapped his split knuckles on a stick, hissed, and glanced up. “A what?”

“A Gifted,” Kaladin said. “Ellian kept saying things like that.”

“I got no idea,” Kor’ad said. “Storms, my hand hurts.”

“I’m rubbing off on you,” Kaladin observed. 

“What?”

“You just said ‘storms,’” Kaladin pointed out. “Like me. Which you said was how you _knew_ I was from not-where-you-were-from.”

“Speaking of which,” Kor’ad said, striking a match. “You planning to tell us what’s up with that?”

“Do I have any other choice?” 

“You know, I don’t think you do. There, that’s finally lit.”

“You sure? I don’t see any fire.”

“There’s a line of smoke. You should be able to see it.” 

He squinted, but there it was. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Kor’ad repeated. “Okay. Yeah. Everyone gather round.”

Everyone was already around, but that didn’t seem to matter. Kaladin felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach. Fates, but he didn’t want to do this. 

“So we, uh. There’s a way of doing this, so that it’s not bad,” Kor’ad said awkwardly. “First, we just go around in a circle. And we say our names. The whole one. And your age, too. And that you want to not die.”

“I’m uh. Dar’jandel Sardris, I’m thirty one as near as I can figure, and I want to not die.”

“I’m Kor’ad Eldai Torwen, I’m pretty sure I’m twenty seven, and I want to not die,” Kor’ad echoed. 

“I’m Ellian Orren, I’m thirteen and a half, and I want to not die,” Ellian was practically bouncing in his seat. 

And it was Kaladin’s turn. “I…I’m Cyr, Kaladin, um. Fates. I’m Kaladin Stormblessed, also known as Cyr. I’m not sure how old I am, but I figure it’s…fates. You’re going to think I’m insane,” he said. 

“You told us you were about twenty,” Kor’ad said. 

“It’s complicated,” Kaladin said. “A long story. I might be closer to four thousand, but I don’t know the exact year—”

“What.”

“I’ll explain everything,” he said. “I want to not die.”

Kor’ad gave him a very strange look. “Right. So that’s done, despite some _incredible weirdness_ , and we can move on to the next part. You tell a story about someone you knew. Back before. When things were good. Jandel, you first.”

“I…when I was young, I had a friend named Elandri. He was a first son, too. We once went out, and tried to meet Lord Alaris. It was hot, and we were tired, and we met a woman who was selling sweets. She gave us each a drink of some kind of sweet water. It was…nice,” Jandel said. He paused. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead now.”

“Everyone we know is pretty much dead now,” Kor’ad said. “I have two siblings, Elissa and Airan. They’re a little bit lucky. When we were kids, we used to get into a lot of trouble. There was this one time…our local citylord was a stupid man, and he used to wear all this heavy jewelry and all this fancy weapons and stuff. And you know what it’s like there in the summer…or, well. I guess you don’t. It was a boiling hot day, and he took off all this very fancy, expensive metal jewelry so he could take a bath or something…Airan snuck off with the man’s signet ring. He didn’t even notice for three days. None of us even got in any trouble over that. It was brilliant,” he said, a faint smile on his face. “Kaladin told me that they were doing alright for themselves. I hope it was true.”

“Back when I was at Tol Shen,” said Ellian, “I had a friend. Her name was Sellia, and she was always nice to me. One time, we went out and picked grass while everyone was studying for a big test. It…she was made into a Shadow.”

And now it was Kaladin’s turn again.

“Before I was conscripted,” Kaladin said, “my brother and I lived in a small town. He was going to be a carpenter. We used to go out exploring in the mountains where we lived. With a girl I knew. Her name was Laral.” He stopped. Started again. “He used to bring me rocks. They were just rocks, but they always made me happy somehow.”

“That’s it?” Kor’ad asked, when it became clear that nothing else was forthcoming. 

“It’s hard to remember anything good,” Kaladin said softly. 

Kor’ad nodded. “I can understand that. The next part…is to talk about your home. What it was like.”

Jandel nodded. “I grew up in a city. They called it the Citadel. It was…always hot, and never clean enough, but it was home,” he said. “There was a market near where I lived, and every day there would be something new to see, someone new to meet. It was a safe place, but not a fun one. And then, of course, there was the Arena. Entertainment for the masses,” he said dully. “I hated that place. Never mind how excited my parents were, I never liked watching people hack one another into bits for the chance to escape that hellhole.” 

Ellian stared in horror. “That happened?”

“Gladiator battles? Yeah,” said Kor’ad. “When I was a kid, I grew up in a farming village just outside Ilshan Gathdel Teth. That’s the Citadel he was talking about. It was a nice place, I guess, but I hated it. Dreamed of being a soldier instead.” He laughed darkly. “Look at how well that worked out. In any case, it was…peaceful. Dull. Every once in a while some of the dar’gaithn officers would stop by and talk to us, but that was the most interesting thing that ever happened.”

Ellian was still horrified. “Did you say _dar’gaithn_?”

“We’re being honest, aren’t we?” Kor’ad asked. “Your turn.”

“I…grew up in one of the Tol Shen schools. It was stressful, and hardly ever any fun. Nothing happened except people moving to different rings, or getting made into Shadows. I was scared there. I was always scared. I…ran away.”

They all nodded approvingly. 

“I grew up in a town called Hearthstone,” Kaladin said. “It was small. My father was the local surgeon, but he…things happened, and we weren’t really welcome there. The…it was in the mountains, and there was always these long grasses that came out after the storms, and there were lots of spren everywhere, especially the windspren. Always windspren around. It was like…well. It was nice,” he said. “Scenic.”

“Right,” said Kor’ad. “More weirdness. Anyway, the next part is where this gets hard. It’s like…a biography, except of yourself,” he said. 

Jandel nodded, lips pressed thin behind his beard. “I was born a first son, but to a poor family. They tried to sell me off so that they could eat when I was six, and I ended up with a servant family who wanted someone to help out. I wasn’t a slave, not really, but it was not pleasant. I worked a lot. When I was fourteen I found an officer from the army, told her what happened to me. It was illegal. The officer let me enlist early, put a sword in my hand, and told me that I was going to take her last name. When I was in my mid twenties, they gave me a platoon to control instead of the normal telaesthesia. I wasn’t bad at it, but I wasn’t great. And then my best friend ran.”

He stopped to take a shaky breath. 

“They made me hunt them down. I dragged them into the Arena myself, delivered them to the Keeper. Myself. To my best friend. What was wrong with me? I don’t know, but I _did it._ And it ate at me inside. I watched someone cut off his head in the Arena, and all I could think was that I was _responsible_. I came back, tried to be a good leader for the rest of my soldiers. I wasn’t. Took me a while to realize that. I got in contact with someone, and they…told me they could send me across the Boundary. I believed them. I took the map they offered, and the advice, and then all of a sudden Mash’an was leading the invasion across the Boundary and I couldn’t leave. And then Kor’ad found me. Said something had happened, and we were free. We came across. And then so did the rest of everyone, almost right after. I…fates,” said Jandel. “This is my life. Failure after failure. But I want to not die.”

Kor’ad nodded. “Same here. I joined the army the day I turned sixteen, just like everyone else. I was so excited. The first day I put on my helmet and had the mental expansion and blackout, I was so confused. I thought I was just doing it wrong, or something. My squad leader had to explain that I wasn’t broken before I finally understood. That that was what it was meant to do. I ran away then, but when they found me, they told me I had a choice instead of just hauling me into the Arena to die. I was eighteen. I think they felt bad for me. They told me to go back, and I did. Put the armor on every day to train. Hated myself. Finally couldn’t take it and ran again a couple of years ago. Stayed on the run since then. Met Jandel through someone else, and we…came across to here.”

Ellian was watching them all with a mixture of confusion and fear. “Across the Boundary…are you Blind?” he demanded.

“What?” asked Kor’ad. His knuckles had stopped bleeding, and he was back to twisting his fingers until they looked like they were going to stap like twigs. 

“Soldiers. Blind soldiers. The ones with the black armor,” Ellian said.

“Not any more,” said Jandel. 

Ellian shivered. “I lived in a school. It was for the Gifted. I don’t remember anything else, so you might as well just not ask,” the kid said. “It was _hard_. Everyone I know—everyone I _knew_ , I mean—were always in competition. If we fell behind, we would be made into Shadows. It happened to people better than me. Some of us ran away, but most of them were caught. I don’t know how I wasn’t. I guess it was because I didn’t use Essence. It’s not easy being alone out here, but I’ve been doing alright.”

“You can use Essence?” Kaladin asked, leaning forwards. 

“Yes?”

“Can you teach me?” Kaladin asked. 

“ _What._ That’s not how it works…you need a Reserve.”

“I have a Reserve. I just need the training.”

“I…I’ll do my best,” said Ellian. “Tell your story.”

“I…grew up in a place called Hearthstone. Our citylord died, and my father, a surgeon, stole some sphe—some money from him. The new citylord wasn’t happy about that. Roshone condemned my brother to _die_ ,” Kaladin spat, and then with the force of will alone forced it down. “He was fourteen, and he was killed on the front lines of a war. I was there, but I…survived. Learned how to fight with a spear. There was a Shardbearer, later, and I killed him. B—the more important lord, Lord Amaram, killed my entire squadron and sold me into slavery in order to take the sword. I…was sent to a different war, to run bridges across chasms. It was terrible. The bridge crews, we were never fed enough, we kept dying…it was torture of the worst kind. I couldn’t protect them. I tried, I tried so _storming hard_ , and. It finally worked,” he said, taking a breath. Storms this was hard to tell. “I finally freed them, and then I woke up…here. Or. Well. Not here, exactly. Somewhere, in a torture box of some kind. Alaris and Meldier broke me out.”

“ _Lord Alaris the Venerate?_ And fates-cursed _Lord Meldier?_ ” Kor’ad squeaked.

“Yes,” Kaladin said. “Them. They thought I was…not myself. Someone named Cyr. I was not, yet. And then I got really storming drunk and fell into a coma and the _actual_ Cyr, who may or may not actually be dead or a figment of my storming imagination, threw a whole bunch of memories at me and hoped they stuck. I don’t know if it worked how he wanted it to. I lived another life, another thousand lives, in less than a day. And that was when Isiliar died, and Meldier—the only person I could talk to there—storming lost his mind. And then died. Someone named, I think it was Talaner, killed him. And is trying to enslave the world. They’re the reason that everything has gone so wrong,” Kaladin pressed. “I have to stop Takramar from whatever they’re trying to do.”

“Are you serious?” asked Jandel.

“When did you meet my sister?” Kor’ad pressed.

“I worked in the kitchens for a while, while Meldier was…off. I didn’t want to be around the other Venerate. The only other one who wasn’t busy was storming _Gassandrid_. So I made myself helpful.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “And you’re _four thousand_ years old?”

“I don’t know,” Kaladin said. “From what I can tell, Cyr was almost a thousand when he got locked in the box, and that was when the Boundary was put up. So it should be…something like that. Give or take a few hundred years. I don’t have any idea when he was born.”

“Your…Tal-whatever-his-name-was is the reason that the Blind invaded?” Ellian asked.

“Probably,” Kaladin said. 

“I want to help you,” Ellian said. “He needs to be stopped.”

“I agree,” said Jandel, and Kor’ad nodded resolutely. “But first you, Kaladin, or whoever you are, you need to learn to use Essence.”

“I do,” Kaladin agreed. 

“I can help you,” Ellian said.

“I can teach you to use the spear,” Kaladin offered. 

“Yes, please,” said the kid. 

“I could teach you both how to handle a sword,” offered Kor’ad.

“Sounds good,” said Kaladin. 

“And together,” Jandel said, staring intently at the fire, “together we will stop this, this, this _madman_ from whatever in el’s name he’s trying to accomplish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, i wrote almost 3000 words in less than two hours. during school. while taking notes. i didn't write anything yesterday, though.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a city. Unfortunately, it is Sliptime, and therefore clearly _something_ is wrong with it. Just read the chapter...

They camped for the first time that night within sight of civilization. Still too far away to reach it, but there was a city nearby that had a high wall and bright torches. Soldiers patrolled. Jandel stopped them and told them to wait until the morning before they attempted to enter, and the rest of them had agreed that it seemed pretty much reasonable. They set up camp under the cover of trees.

Kaladin came awake in the middle of the night to the sound of a strange, intense humming, almost as though the very air were vibrating. It hit on a memory in him—something strange—something _old_ , which he could scarcely fix on. It had too much of Talmarar in it, but…this…this was dangerous. Something bad. Something was _coming_. 

He carefully, silently, went about waking everyone up. Jandel and Kor’ad looked unnerved, but Ellian was terrified. 

Something dark blotted out the lights of the city for a second, and then another, and another. “Get into the forest,” Kaladin whispered, hefting his spear. “Go. Try to be as quiet as you can.”

They fled without a word. 

Kaladin sighed, taking a breath in and releasing it. Ellian had been talking over the Principle of Draw, but he still didn’t seem to _understand_ it. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

The humming lessened, the intensity of the vibrating hum sliding towards the city. He let out a breath of relief. 

_Wait. Storms. The city,_ Kaladin realized. _They’re in danger!_

“You can come out,” Kaladin said quietly. “I’m…I think I’m going to try and get to the city, see if there’s anything I can do.”

“Kaladin, wait,” said Jandel. “You can’t—”

“I have to,” he said. “Fates, they’re going to die.”

Kaladin took off at an awkward limping run, but as he got nearer he was able to see archers on the walls. The town around the outside of the small stronghold was deserted, but flaming arrows fell from the walls and the creatures seemed to shy away from them. It was…clearly, this was not the first attack. Kaladin turned and made his way back to the others. 

“You’re alive?” Ellian asked. “That’s great!”

“I, too, am glad I am alive,” Kaladin said. “I think we’re safe. Let’s get back to sleep.”

They did not sleep well that night. 

* * *

The sun rose upon them as they finally reached the city. 

Exhausted, the four of them walked—or in Kaladin’s case, limped—towards ths stronghold slowly, but happily. Finally. They would finally be somewhere _else._

Except for Ellian. He insisted that coming here would be dangerous for him, but he refused to wait outside. They brought him with them, but his nervous, restless energy seemed to be almost muted in the face of something _storming good to eat and somewhere he could get his ankle fixed…_

A soldier posted at the gate stopped them with a long, thin metal wand. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Travelers,” said Jandel, while Kor’ad said quickly, “Refugees.” The guard raised an eyebrow.

“You’re clearly not related,” he said. “Why are you traveling together?”

“We met up on the road,” Kaladin explained. “Been together for a while by now. And we’re all looking forwards to getting a nice meal, or maybe somewhere _indoors_ for the night…” 

“Sorry, but I’m under orders,” the man said. “I can’t let anyone in.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Jandel said, trying to push Kaladin out of the way. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”

“I’m under orders…” he said again, but a glare from Kaladin had him withering in his boots. 

“Please,” said Kaladin. He didn’t sound very pleading, so he tried again. “Look, we have a kid with us. We recently lost another member of our party, and we don’t have any supplies. Just let us in, we’ll stay the night, and then we’ll be out of your hair, easily. It’s…” he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “This is no place for a child. We just want to make sure he’s safe, you hear me?”

The man nodded. “I have two at home, and fates know I wouldn’t let them even leave the city. But my orders still…stand…”

Kor’ad had rested a hand on his sword. It seemed the guard only just saw the weapons that the four of them all carried. 

“Look, this is ridiculous,” Jandel said. He sounded friendly, if concerned. A perfect liar. “My companion is a bit reckless, I think, but as you know well tempers run wild if you haven’t had anything to eat. We weren’t able to trap anything, and after what happened to Serin…” he turned away, looking almost as though there were _genuine tears_ in his eyes. His voice caught. Kor’ad looked as though he had swallowed something sour. “After what happened to her, we didn’t feel like it was safe enough to tarry. Please, just let us in for one day. I beseech you.”

Jandel made a big show of getting onto his knees and pleading. 

It was probably the best lie Kaladin had ever seen. 

That was disconcerting. 

The man took an uncomfortable step backwards. “Look, I don’t mean anything by it—”

“You’re the one doing it,” Ellian said. “Please, I’m so _hungry_.” 

The kid was also a good liar. 

“I really can’t let you in!” the guard said, sounding incredibly flustered. Jandel was still on his knees, and Ellian was giving him azehound eyes. He stood no match. “We’re not so well-stocked ourselves—”

“Surely you can feed us for one day,” Kaladin cut him off. 

“I…I…I need to speak with my supervisor,” the guard eventually said, and started to leave. “Wait here, _please_.”

The gate was locked, so it wasn’t as though there was anything else to do. 

Eventually the guardsman returned with another man in tow. “These are them,” he told the man. Ellian waved and looked pitiful. 

“Four of you?” the man asked. 

“Yeah,” said Jandel. “Please let us in.”

“Sounds all right by me,” the man said. “One night only, and then you leave, is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Jandel said. 

“You’re the leader of this group?”

“Yeah.”

“Make sure they don’t cause any trouble in our city.”

“Will do, sir. Thank you very much.”

“And we want your Gifted friend to remain _outside_ the city.”

Ellian shrunk. 

“Who are you referring to, again?” asked Jandel.

“The one with all the burns, in his red cape. He stays out here.”

“There must be some mistake,” Kor’ad said, stepping forwards. “I’m not Gifted.”

“You’ve got the cloak, _Bleeder_ ,” the new man sneered. 

“I like the color,” said Kor’ad. “I’m not Gifted.”

“Then you don’t mind if we test you?” he asked.

“Sure,” said Kor’ad. He shifted uncomfortably, though. None of them knew what the test _was_. 

The man tapped Kor’ad’s forearm with the thin long rod he had. 

Nothing happened. 

“Huh,” said the man. “I guess you’re not?”

“Told you. Just a cape.” 

“Can we come in now?” Kaladin asked, brushing past Ellian. The kid fell into step directly on the opposite side of Kaladin’s body from the man with the stick. 

“Sounds alright by me,” he said. “Don’t make trouble, and we’ll see you out by nightfall tomorrow.” 

“Thank you,” said Jandel, and they made their way inside. 


	26. City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a city.   
> Ellian has friends.

The city was an enormous place with crowded, busy streets. The people seemed dead-eyed but moved quickly, and Kaladin found he had to keep a close eye on Ellian to make sure the small child didn’t get swept up in the rush of moving people and lost. The streets were clogged with refuse. 

And there was the stench of decay, but no bodies. 

This place had Kaladin set entirely on edge. 

Jandel told the rest of them to “go somewhere” and let him find a tavern to stay in for the night, but there didn’t seem to be anything for them to do. Kaladin and Jandel between them had around twelve or thirteen gold pieces from back beyond the Boundary, but Kaladin suspected—and Ellian confirmed for them—that this money wouldn’t count for anything. _I hope Jandel has thought of something,_ he mused, and instead they went window-shopping for clothing. Kor’ad had to take his red cloak off before people would stop cursing at them in the streets, though, and Kaladin found himself growing more and more worried for Ellian. The kid _was_ Gifted, wasn’t he? This couldn’t be the kind of environment that was safe for someone like him. 

Ellian dragged them into a small pastry shop on the corner of one of the smaller streets. “Trust me,” the kid said. “Can’t you _smell_ it? It’s good!”

It was hot and oppressive outside. 

It was hotter and more oppressive inside, but it did smell nice.

Rows of puffed pastry and small cakes and cookies and foods of various types sat in lines on shelves behind glass. Glowing lines of Essence heated the display case. Kaladin couldn’t help it; his mouth was watering. 

Ellian bounced right up to the case and called back to the baker, who looked busy back there, “Hey, Dustfinger! Are there any free samples?”

The man jerked up. “Ellian?” he breathed.

“Yuup,” said the kid. “We’re hungry, but we got no money on us.”

The man swiveled. His eyes were ringed by black lines that radiated outward, giving him a strangely veined aspect. “Did you just say _we_?”

Kaladin waved. Kor’ad’s fingers twitched, like he was fighting off the urge to grab for the handle of his sword. The baker gulped. 

“This is Dust—uh, Warren,” said Ellian brightly. “He helped me out a while ago.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kaladin said. 

“Um…nice to meet you…” the baker, Warren, trailed off. “I mean, um. It’s great. Just…uh…great.”

“He always this jumpy, Li?” Kor’ad asked Ellian.

“Not usually, Blister.”

Warren watched them with an expression of thinly veiled nervousness. 

“My name’s Kaladin, and, uh, Blister here is Kory,” Kaladin said. “You already know Ellian.”

“That I do,” Warren said. “Nice to uh. Know your names.”

Kaladin glanced at Kor’ad. He supposed that a man covered in burns and scars would be intimidating to a normal person. He looked back to the shrinking baker. “Are you alright?”

“I…”

“We’re not going to hurt you, or anyone else,” Kor’ad added.

“I…” said Warren again.

“I’m _dead serious_ ,” said Kaladin. “We’re just passing through.”

“I…really?” Warren asked. “I assumed you were…soldiers.”

Kor’ad looked at the door for a second, just in case anyone could overhear them. Warren didn’t do them the favor of missing the gesture. “No.”

“You’re _deserters_?” the baker breathed. “From the force that was sent to break the Blind army?”

Kaladin fought back a wince. A force sent to break an army in Telaesthesia wouldn’t fare well at all. 

“I…I have bread that I can give you. And small cakes. You must be starving, if you came with Ellian. He’d eat anyone out of hearth and home.”

Ellian laughed, jumping the counter to come back to where Warren was working. “It’s good to see you again,” he said. 

“You shouldn’t have come back,” the baker said softly. “You don’t want to wind up like me.”

_What does that mean?_

“I’m not alone,” Ellian said, “and they were _dead sure_ that Fireface over there was the only Gifted in the group.”

“ _That guy_ is Gifted?”

“Nah. Had a red cape, though, for some reason. But Kaladin says he has a Reserve, so he wants me to teach him about the Principle of Draw.”

“Can’t do that here, though,” Warren warned. “They have Finders every few streets. You’ll be caught in a moment.”

 _What in the hell is a Finder?_ Kaladin wondered.

“I _know_ ,” said Ellian. “I’m not stupid. Not in the least. But he only told me that, that he’s Gifted, storming yesterday.”

Warren side-eyed the kid. “‘Storming?’” he repeated. 

“Kaladin curses like that. And ‘Stormfather.’”

“He sounds like an…interesting person.”

“You have _no_ idea.”

“He’s definitely a soldier,” Warren said, “and I don’t know many soldiers, but usually they don’t leave their swords behind.”

“Oh, no, Kaladin has a spear,” said Ellian. “He promised to teach me to use it. Blister’s going to teach us both to use swords, too.”

“Why do you call him that?” asked Warren. 

“What, Blister? I’d imagine that was, um, staring you right in the _face_ ,” Ellian quipped. 

“Very funny,” Warren said. “No, Kaladin. You…I’ve never known you to call anyone by name.”

“He asked,” Ellian said. “And handed me a sandwich.”

“I asked you to call me Warren,” Warren said. 

“You _told_ me to call you Warren,” Ellian corrected. “Kaladin said ‘please.’”

 _I had? I didn’t even remember that_ ,” Kaladin thought.

“Right,” said Warren. “Would you _please_ stop calling me Dustfinger?”

“Mmm…nope, Dusty,” Ellian said.

“But I said ‘please!’” protested Warren, although he was smiling. 

“Dust-throwing menace,” Ellian insisted. “Covered in dust, leaving fingerprints on everything…”

“Come on,” Warren said. “That was _one time_.”

“One time? It had to be at least three,” Ellian corrected. “You used to spend _so_ much time in the Archives.”

Warren groaned good-naturedly. “You can stop now,” he said. “Fates, but it’s good to have you back, Green.”

“Not for long,” Ellian said. “We’re trying to head up to Ilin Ilan.”

“Even after what that one woman did? And what happened to the Administrators? _And_ the monsters? It’s not safe, Green.”

“Did you find out anything about what happened to the castle?” Ellian asked. “I can’t stop wondering about that woman. Is it true that someone showed up and _stabbed_ her with a magic knife?”

_What._

“It is,” Warren said. “They said the guy who did it called her ‘Is,’ and one of our lovely local Blues called her an example of why the Augur Amnesty is bad, so I think she must be one of the Augurs turned bad. Still, I don’t think _anyone_ knows anything about her.”

Kaladin had a bad feeling. “Was her name…could it be Isiliar?” he asked. “The man who stabbed her…Meldier, or Alaris?”

Warren stared at him. “Isiliar and Alaris, yes. How do you know about that?”

“Guess,” Kaladin said. “What happened? I _need_ to know.”

“She tore into the castle at Ilin Ilan, claiming to be looking for someone called, I think it was Tal’kanor. She ripped apart buildings, everything, killed a bunch of people with some kind of strange magic, nearly killed the Northwarden, and then—by all accounts—met someone named Alaris, cried a little, and then got stabbed and killed. The casualties ended up being something in the hundreds. It was a tragedy.”

“Sounds like one,” Kaladin agreed, feeling sick. _This world makes monsters of all of us_ , he heard a dead woman’s voice echo in his mind. These were the Venerate that he remembered as helping people?

“I have a box of bread and cake for you,” Warren said, tying a knot in something. “Don’t tell anyone I gave it to you for free, of course. Can’t have that.”

“Right,” said Kaladin. “I understand. Thank you very much for your help.”

“Long as you keep an eye on my stupid friend Ellian there, I don’t mind,” Warren said. “Don’t hurt him.”

“I can look out for myself,” Ellian said angrily. 

“I’m sure you can,” Warren said. “Aren’t you only thirteen, now? I’m seventeen, and I wish someone were looking out for me.”

“I’m twenty, and I feel the same way,” Kaladin volunteered. 

“Nearly thirty, and that’s the best way to put it,” Kor’ad agreed. “Seems we only ever want to grow up when we don’t need to.”

Warren nodded. “Keep safe, you three.”

“Will do,” Ellian said. 

And they left, walking into the marginally cooler summer heat of the city outside. 


	27. Title Redacted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fire burns brightly, but the glow of knowledge is brighter.

Jandel broke away from the main group with a bit of a nervous flutter in his stomach. He had a plan. _Get to the first city on your way, and contact me at the Vision’s Eye Tavern. I’ll be there. Look for ‘Shen.’_

He brushed down the street unobtrusively, head held low, and blended in with the crowd. It wasn’t a big city—nothing like the way that the Citadel he’d grown up in had been—but it was still large enough that he could easily find himself blending in with the disenfranchised masses. No one spared him a second glance. He was a worker, or a servant, or someone just bustling through. 

_You don’t see me. You see one of your own. I am no one, just one of you. You know me to be one of you. Don’t stop me. I am not worth your time_. 

No one gave him any trouble.

He saw the tavern, took a step towards it, and then made a careful loop around the block. No one was following him. He walked into the tavern.

It was only nearing ten in the morning, and so the room was nearly empty save for an exhausted-looking teen wiping down the counter with a dishrag. The kid started. “Hello, sir,” she said. “Didn’t expect no one this early.”

“Are you closed? I’m so sorry,” Jandel said. _Sixteen or seventeen. Busy. Probably doesn’t get paid much. Was out late last night, maybe. She won’t remember me if I don’t make myself too memorable_. 

“Nah, we’re open,” she said. “Just, if you get my drift, most people aren’t looking for a drink this early on a weekday.”

“Neither am I,” Jandel said. “I’m supposed to meet someone here, a ‘Shen.’”

The kid nodded, and suddenly her posture changed entirely. “It’s me. Candlelight?”

“That’s me, yeah. I didn’t expect you to be so…young.”

“Neither does anyone else,” she said. “I want you and anyone you’re traveling with to get a room here, later. I have a job for you.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Jandel asked her. “I…there is a man traveling with me that I don’t know, and a child. Both can use Essence, I believe. I didn’t pick them—they kind of inserted themselves into my group.”

“Do you know their names?”

“One of them is a kid from this side of the Boundary. Told us his name was,” Jandel looked into his bag and found a sheet of notes he’d scribbled down. “Ellian Orren, a runaway from a school called Tol Shen. I imagine that that explains your code name?” 

“It would,” she said. “Of course, I’ve never been there. As you no doubt are aware.”

“Of course,” said Jandel. “The second gave many names for himself. Kaladin, sometimes Kaladin Stormblessed—although I don’t know why that would be the name he chose to give, but it was. He also claimed to be called Cyr.”

Shen reared back. “Cyr as in _Cyr_ Cyr?”

“I…possibly.”

“He must be incredibly dangerous, then,” she said, winding the dishrag through her fingers absentmindedly. There was a terrifyingly sharp look haunting her eyes. “Absolutely out of anyone’s control, and wild. Almost unhinged sometimes. Sound about right?”

“…no,” Jandel said. “But he is…Kaladin is fiercely determined. He does not startle easily, but when he does it almost always seems to be because of something that the rest of us wouldn’t have noticed. He doesn’t seem to feel pain properly—either that or he heals himself, despite claiming he doesn’t know how to do so. I would believe it. His ankle is a mess. It was broken when we met him. He’s…also incredibly defensive of Ellian, the kid. All kids, as far as I can tell. There was an Echo who he also took into our group, and he was ready to murder Kor’ad—the other one I told you about before we left—for dealing with it.”

She nodded. “Cyr wouldn’t be overly concerned with the needs of children,” she mused. “Are you _certain_.”

“He…said that Cyr’s memories are mingled with those of his own.”

She blinked. “So he may not be properly Venerate, then. I see.”

Jandel blinked. “Did you just say _Venerate?”_

“Of course,” Shen nodded. “Cyr is one of the Venerate.”

The fates-cursed _Venerate_. He should have known. “He claimed that Meldier and Isiliar are dead at Tal-something’s hands. He doesn’t seem to know the name of their murderer, though.”

“Another of the Venerate,” Shen said, “could clearly be extrapolated from that, except that the name is not remembered. Maybe it was Tal’kamar. I believe our contact Snake said that Tal’kamar has run away.”

“It sounds about right,” he said, turning to leave the establishment. 

“Listen, Candlelight,” Shen said, calling him back. “This is a much more dangerous mission all of a sudden than we meant to give you. If at any point the assignment seems to be endangering you because of your proximity to this Kaladin, you are to immediately disengage and get in contact with one of our operatives. Another person like me, codenamed Tailor, can be found in the Bull’s Head restaurant in Valern. He likes to turn up roundabout seven o’clock at night, lurks in the back. Wear a blue handkerchief around your neck if it’s desperate. And whatever you do,” she said softly, leaning in. 

“Whatever I do?” prompted Jandel, when she paused. 

“Whatever you do, Candlelight,” she said. “Don’t let Cyr kill _anyone_.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jandel said. “Thank you, Shen.”

“I have a task for you, as well, though not nearly of this magnitude that you’ve been thrown into. I need you to take a Vessel to Thane, who’s also going to be in Valern. She won’t be easy to find, so you’re probably going to need to check in with Tailor. Thane likes to move around.”

“Alright,” said Jandel. “Can you tell me what the Vessel does?”

“It’s a pair of bracelets,” Shen said. “The wearer of both of them can use small amounts of Essence, even if they aren’t Gifted. Solely for personal protection, of course. It makes a shield.”

“Thank you,” said Jandel. “Am I allowed to use them in cases of emergency?”

“Don’t touch them unless Cyr turns on you,” she said. “You know how to fight, but there’s almost nothing that can save you if one of the Venerate decides you need to die. But in any other case, don’t reveal them. They need to remain a _secret_.”

“Understood,” Jandel said. “I will do as you ask.”

“The fire burns brightly,” she said, as was customary.

“The glow of knowledge is brighter,” Jandel finished. “Thank you, Shen. I look forwards to seeing you again soon.”

“As do I,” she said. “We may meet again, soon. It depends on how well you carry out the tasks we have set for you.”

“Understood.” 

Jandel exited the building, and went to see if he couldn’t track down the other three members of his party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these secretive fucks i love them


	28. Principles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens

“So the most important thing to know,” Ellian said quietly as they were walking, “is that Essence isn’t manipulated with any of the parts of your real physical body. Essence is controlled using your mind. It’s sort of like exercise, but more mental than physical. If you’ve ever used it, you would know.”

“Right,” said Kaladin.

“You know how to _sense_ Essence, right?” Ellian asked. 

“Yeah,” Kaladin said. “Can we not call, um, it that? How about ‘stormlight’ as a code.”

“Right,” said Ellian. “Weird name, but I’ll do it. You control the Es—Stormlight by the same senses you use to sense where the Stormlight is.”

“Makes sense,” said Kaladin. 

“You have to draw it from your Reserve, though,” said Ellian. “You can sense it from outside you, but Stormlight can’t be taken from outside of you.”

“That’s not right,” Kaladin said. “I know _that’s_ not.”

“Are you the G—the one who uses Stormlight, or am I? Right, didn’t think so,” Ellian snapped. “Just let me explain.”

“Alright,” Kaladin said. 

“You draw Stormlight with your mind, right?” Kor’ad asked. “Is it like…reaching out, but without moving your hands?”

Ellian stared at him.

“Is it?” Kor’ad asked again. 

“That’s exactly how my teachers explained it to me,” Ellian said. “How do _you_ know that? You’re not one of, um, one of us.”

“It’s the way that commander’s armor worked. I used it, once.”

“Huh,” said Ellian. “Yeah, it’s like that. But you have to be, um. Metaphysically grabbing a trail of the Stormlight while you do it, or nothing will happen.”

“Right,” said Kaladin. 

“I guess you’ve never done it accidentally, then,” Ellian said. “Because if you did, you should remember how.”

“I…” Kaladin said. “I have, but it was not like that. And it seems to work differently, now. I’ll explain when we leave the city,” he said. 

“That sounds cool,” said Ellian. “It’s not like we can see if you’ve figured it out or not, here. There’s no school or anything.”

“Right,” said Kaladin. 

“Where’s Jandel?” asked Kor’ad. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Kaladin said. “Might not be done with whatever he’s doing yet. Let’s see if we can check out the city a little bit more, I guess.”

“We still have no money,” Kor’ad.

“No one’s going to charge us for walking around,” he said. 

“Worst comes to worst, Kaladin can probably put on a show,” Ellian said. “Fling his spear around or something, make us a couple silvers at least.”

Kaladin and Kor’ad both eyeballed the kid. “I am not a show pony,” Kaladin said.

“Never said you were,” Ellian quipped. “You would be a show spearman.”

“I’m not one of those, either.”

“Right, right.”

“Wait here,” Kor’ad suddenly said, and charged off somewhere.

“What’s up with him?” asked Ellian. “You wanna take off?”

“No.”

“I don’t want to just _stand here_ ,” Ellian whined. “Come on. Let’s explore, or something.”

“He literally _just_ left,” Kaladin said. “Give him a minute.”

“I don’t _want_ to give Blister a storming minute. Let’s _go_ , Kaladin.”

“No,” Kaladin insisted.

“Come ooooon,” Ellian whined, pulling on Kaladin’s arm. 

“No, really,” Kaladin said.

“Why not?” Ellian asked.

 _He’s a friend, and he clearly wants to meet back up with us soon, but I doubt Ellian cares_. “He has the box of pastries.”

“Oh,” said Ellian. “Can we go find him?”

“No,” Kaladin said. 

“Why not?”

“We’re more likely to get lost in a place like this than we are to find Kor’ad,” Kaladin said. 

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah.”

“Can we try and get some money off of one of the people?” Ellian asked. 

“Um,” said Kaladin eloquently. “How?”

“Beg,” Ellian said. 

“I’d rather not…” Kaladin said, but Ellian was already yanking on the ties of his shirt to make it look less tied. He arranged his own threadbare cloak a little differently, too. 

“We already look the part,” Ellian insisted. “We can totally do it.”

“I don’t want to,” Kaladin said weakly, but the kid was already running up to a passerby. 

“Please, sir,” the kid was saying. “Me and my brother, we lost our family, and we,” Kaladin watched in what amounted to fascinated horror as Ellian began sobbing big, incredibly realistic fake tears, “our sister is dead, and we, we, we just need a few silvers to buy something to eat, please, sir, we, we would be so grateful, if you could just, just spare one coin, please…” 

The man frowned, and then handed him a coin. “The army needs soldiers, boy,” he barked at Kaladin. “They always pay a decent sum.”

“My ankle is bad,” Kaladin said, trying very hard to play along properly. “Can’t do much of anything if I can’t walk properly.”

The man nodded. “For what it’s worth, there should be work in Ilin Ilan,” he said, and moved on. 

Ellian turned to Kaladin, grinning, tears still streaking lines in the grime on his face. “Look, he gave us a silver! This is enough for a meal anywhere!”

Kaladin nodded. “I’m not comfortable doing that, Ellian,” he said. 

“It works, though,” Ellian said. 

“That doesn’t mean I want to, though,” Kaladin said. “Look, we’re in a group. I consider your feelings when I do something, but you have to also remember to consider mine.”

Ellian looked up at him, almost like he expected Kaladin to have been joking. When he realized that Kaladin was serious, the kid shrugged. “Look, I didn’t think about it, but if we have to do what we have to do to survive, then…I’m going to do whatever it takes. I think your friends know that, but you aren’t willing to.”

“I don’t like taking advantage of people,” Kaladin said. “But there’s other ways we can make a quick dollar than begging from people.”

“Really,” Ellian drawled. 

“Yes, really!” Kaladin said. “I have training as a surgeon, and you know…lots of things. I can use a spear, and Kor’ad can use a sword, and all three of us can wash dishes or whatever else.”

“Those are all _real_ jobs, though,” Ellian said. “None of them will hire us.”

Kaladin grimaced. Ellian had a point. 

“Lets be honest,” Ellian said. “Begging or busking are the only things we can do.”

Kaladin sighed, looking for a response, but Kor’ad returned and clapped them on the shoulders and so he didn’t have to. “Hey, guys,” Kor’ad said. “So I know we’re a little low on money right now, but I had an idea, and it paid right off.”

“So did I,” said Ellian, holding up the silver.

“Not like this,” Kor’ad said, covertly showing them a pouch full of gold coins. Ellian’s eyes widened. 

“ _What did you do that’s a fortune_ ,” the kid hissed. 

Kor’ad smiled. “We need to leave, really fast,” he said. 

“Right,” said Ellian. “Kal, you need to be very, very distracting, and then walk the other way.”

“Where should I go?” Kaladin asked. 

“Back to Dusty’s shop,” Ellian suggested, and then he and Kor’ad took off at a sprint. 

There came a sudden shout of the single word ‘ _thief,_ ’ because of course Kor’ad had to have _robbed_ someone, and Kaladin assumed that was his cue. Time to be distracting.

He stepped out into the road, and then intentionally let his ankle buckle. He screamed in half-feigned and half-real pain, and then _very_ intentionally got in the way of a man in a blue cloak riding a black horse.

He very less intentionally also got stepped on by the horse. He screamed again. _That_ was agony. 

The horse reared back, and the rider panicked and brought the horse away from Kaladin’s body. He tried to take count of what just happened. _Crushed lung. Cracked ribs_. 

And then something else happened, and a sort of siren went off just as the pain in Kaladin’s ribs seemed to lessen. 

The horseback rider flinched, looked down at his bag, and then back at Kaladin.

“A fates-cursed bleeder?” the man muttered. “Of course this is my luck.”

Kaladin rolled up, holding his side. “You could have killed me!” he shouted. 

“You’re a runaway!” the man shouted back.

“A what?” Kaladin said. This was _not_ how he’d expected this conversation to go. “I’m _injured_!”

There was a crowd, now, looking at him. Ellian and Kor’ad looked to have gotten away. Perfect.

“You’re an El-cursed Gifted in my city, is what you are,” the man said, dismounting. “Show me your arms.”

Kaladin stuck out his hands. _Please don’t shackle me, please don’t shackle me_ …

The man pushed back his sleeves. “No Mark? But…”

“I’m clearly not the one you’re looking for, then,” said Kaladin. “Oh, my _chest_ , I can scarcely breathe.”

“Oh, El,” the man said, panicking visibly. “Um. Someone help me,” he called, “this man needs medical attention!”

Someone made a move towards him, but Kaladin stood up on his own. “I…I’ll live,” he said. “It wasn’t in a vital place. But I think I need something cold to put on the area. And I hurt my ankle,” he said.

The man nodded. “My name is Administrator Barns,” he said. “We’re going to get you patched up, son. What’s your name?”

Kaladin searched for a name. “Moash,” he said quickly.

“Right, Moash,” he said. “We’re going to find someone who can help you. Do you think you can ride?”

Kaladin tried not to visibly shrink. “I’d rather not,” he said. 

“We’re going to carry you, then,” Administrator Barns said, and pointed at someone in the crowd. “You, help me bring this kid to the clinic.”

“Can do,” said a big burly man. 

“Thank you,” said Kaladin, and tried to figure out how in the hell he was going to get back to Ellian and Kor’ad.

* * *

“So you, clearly robbed someone,” Ellian gasped out while they were running, and Kor’ad tried to suppress a flinch. 

“Yes,” he said.

“Cool,” said Ellian. “I always, wanted, to try that.”

Someone screamed behind them. It sounded like… _fates_ , it sounded like _Kaladin_ , possibly dying.

They kept running. 

“So who did you, pinch it off of?” Ellian asked. 

“Some guy in a, in a blue cloak,” Kor’ad said. “Big man, had a, black horse.”

“You, robbed the _Administrator_?” Ellian said. “You’re my, new, personal hero, Blister.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kor’ad panted. 

Kaladin screamed again. They ran faster.

* * *

Kaladin, leg now properly set and casted and ribs taped up, hobbled out of a small clinic about an hour later and set off in search of his friends. It wasn’t hard to find Warren’s bakery, and the two were inside. 

“Storming fates,” said Ellian, “what were you shrieking about?”

Kor’ad looked at him. “You got someone to fix your ankle out of whatever it was you did?”

“And broke my ribs,” said Kaladin. 

“What did you _do_?” Ellian asked again.

Kaladin shrugged. “I got run over by an Administrator’s horse.”

Ellian and Kor’ad both flinched. 

“Damn,” said Ellian.

“Was it the same one I, er, borrowed from?” Kor’ad asked. “Black horse, angry expression, stupid-looking white ponytail?”

“Sounds about right,” Kaladin said. 

Ellian laughed. “Dustfinger, you’re not gonna believe this,” the kid choked out.

Warren popped his head out from in the kitchen. “What?” 

“We just robbed a fates-cursed Administrator,” said Ellian, “and then Kaladin distracted them from coming after us by getting run over by _the same storming Administrator_!”

Warren blinked. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”

“I wish,” muttered Kaladin. “Ellian, you can’t go around talking about that.”

“Only to Dusty. He thinks it’s funny.”

“I think it sounds dangerous.”

“Yeah, but it’s also funny,” Ellian insisted.

“Fair enough,” Warren said. “It is funny.”

“We’d better hit the road,” Kor’ad said. 

“Right,” said Warren. “Please get out of my bakery before my boss comes back.”

“Alright,” said Kaladin. “Let’s go. Ellian, give Kor’ad your cloak.”

“Why?” Ellian asked. 

“Give him your cloak, and I’ll give you my coat,” said Kaladin, and Ellian immediately stripped off the cloak and handed it to Kor’ad. Kor’ad nodded, immediately catching on, and took his shirt off. Kaladin also took off his tunic—this one was a different color and shape than Kor’ad’s, of course—and handed Ellian his coat, which Ellian took eagerly. He handed the tunic to Kor’ad, who gave Kaladin his shirt and tied on Ellian’s cloak, pulling the hood up around his face. Ellian slipped on the jacket, which was several sizes too large for the kid, and grinned. 

“Hey, Dustfinger,” Ellian said. “Got a hat?”

“We don’t need a hat,” said Kaladin to Ellian, and then called back to Warren. “Got any empty boxes you would have used to deliver things in?” 

“I do have that,” Warren said, and gave them a decent-sized wooden barrel. 

“Carry this,” said Kaladin, tapping on it with the hand that wasn’t holding his cane. “Look like you’re just another busy man doing a simple job and take this back to the, the tavern that Jandel was going to. What was that?”

“The Vision’s Eye, he said, right?” Kor’ad said, picking up the barrel. “Huh, this is lighter than I expected.”

“It’s usually packed with dough,” said Warren. “And heavy. Look tired if you carry it.”

“I can do that,” said Kor’ad, and put the barrel back down. 

“We’ll meet at the Vision, then,” Kaladin said. “You go there first, Kor’ad, and then Ellian and I will meet up with you. And then, if Jandel isn’t there, then I’ll go look for him. You better keep your head down.”

Kor’ad nodded. “It paid off,” he said.

“It did.”

Ellian grinned. “And we messed with Administration and got away with it. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to stick it to those storming-fates-cursed bastards.” 

“I’m not sure those curses stack like that—”

“Storming, fates-cursed, mangy doglike cur bastard son-of-a-bitch excrement eating bastards. That better, Blister?”

“Much better,” Kor’ad said. “I guess it works.”

“Right,” said Kaladin. “You’d best go out the back way. Warren, can you do that?”

“Let him out the back? Yeah, sure, no problem.” The young man walked up to the gate and let Kor’ad and his barrel through. “Straight down the hall, you can’t miss it. Past the kitchens. Don’t touch anything, or trust me my boss will know.”

Kor’ad left without incident. Ellian and Kaladin gave him about fifteen minutes, and then they too left the little bakery.

It was time to find Jandel. 


	29. Impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part the second of last chapter

Ellian and Kaladin stepped lightly into the street. By now it was nearing noon, and though they weren’t hungry, it was getting to be a little bit less crowded. They slipped into the alleyway by the side of the building, hoping to get to the Vision or whatever it was quicker, but instead they found themselves in what looked like a dead end.

“I don’t think we want to be here,” Ellian said. 

“I think you might be right,” Kaladin said. “We can probably hop that wall, though, and we don’t want Warren to get into any trouble.”

“That’s true,” said Ellian. “You think you can lift me over it? It looks high.”

“Eh, maybe eight feet at the most. We’ll be fine.”

Ellian nodded, starting to run for the wall, and then turned suddenly. “Your ribs are broken.”

Kaladin grimaced. “Right. Well. About that.”

“About that _what_.”

“I may have…accidentally healed them with Essence,” Kaladin said.

“ _You what.”_

“By accident!”

“No one does that by accident!” Ellian yelped. “That’s _hard_ to do! It takes training! You can’t just…do that.”

“I’ve…I have had training. I just don’t remember any of it,” Kaladin said. “I should be able to do a lot more than I can, but I have a lot of holes in my memories.”

Ellian nodded. “That sounds like a lot of lies. Let’s get moving.”

“Right,” Kaladin said, and they walked to the wall. “Put your hands on my shoulders,” he said, crouching down. “I’ll grab your feet and lift you up into the air, and you’re going to get onto the wall.”

“Alright,” said Ellian, and stood in front of Kaladin with his hands on Kaladin’s shoulders.

“Jump,” said Kaladin. Ellian did, and Kaladin grabbed his ankles and pushed the kid into the air. Ellian leaned forwards, almost falling over, and grabbed Kaladin’s head to keep himself from toppling. 

“ _Ow_ ,” said Kaladin. “So. Can you get onto the wall.”

Ellian grabbed the wall with his hands and proceeded to sit on it. “That good?”

“Will you fall off if I let go?” Kaladin asked.

“Shouldn’t,” said Ellian, and so Kaladin let go and jumped for the top of the wall himself. It was probably a little over eight feet, and he just managed to grab the top of it and haul himself up. 

The other side of the wall was a sheer drop into a much lower courtyard ringed with stone. _Let’s not jump into that. I don’t want to break my ankle again_.

“Can we keep going along this wall, do you think?” Ellian asked.

“Yeah, probably. It’s not too thin.”

“Let’s do that, then,” Ellian said, and they walked to what looked like the end of it. The wall terminated in a dark, long alley somewhere in the middle of the city. They’d made it probably three roads away from where Warren’s bakery sat. 

Kaladin slipped off the wall and hit the ground hard, so he had to roll to keep himself from getting hurt and wound up discovering that his ribs were not entirely healed the hard way. He groaned, pulled himself to his feet, and cursed his shortsightedness for throwing out his cane when he had left the clinic. 

“Kaladin, are you okay?” Ellian asked from on the wall.

“Fine,” Kaladin grunted. “Here. Jump down, I’ll catch you.”

“Thanks,” Ellian said, and did. Kaladin’s ribs ached. He mentally told them to stop whining, and considered the options.

He had to get them both to this Vision’s Eye tavern, and quickly, but there were two ways they could go—north and then east, or east and then north. East and then north seemed like a good idea, so they tried to make it through the dimly lit, overhung alley and get to the main road when a burly man with a spiked club stepped into their path from a dingy doorway. Because of course there had to be a muscle-bound man with a spiked club in an alleyway. Kaladin was ready to slap whatever god—the Almighty or El or whoever it was—that created this place, because really. How many inconveniences could they have in one day?

“Going somewhere?” the man asked. It was like a scene out of a play. 

“Isn’t everyone?” Kaladin asked.

The man barked out a laugh. “You aren’t, unless you hand over your valuables.”

“Do we look like the sort of people to keep valuables?” Kaladin asked jokingly, but stepped very, very carefully in front of Ellian. He didn’t need to get hurt.

“What, you got no money on you?” the man asked. “Not in that bag of yours? That coat the kid’s wearing ain’t worth anything, and there’s nothing in all those pockets? You two look like nobles,” he sneered. 

“We’re not,” Kaladin said. 

“You’re not gutter trash,” the man said. “Dirty, maybe, but you’re not poor.”

“We don’t have anything to take,” Kaladin repeated.

“You may be a child, and you may look weak, but you also look rich. I want your damn bag.”

“Can I take my damn pastries out?” Kaladin started to say, but Ellian was actively running ahead of him, and…kicking spike-stick-man in the crotch. “Call Kaladin weak!” Ellian shouted. “Say it again!”

The man growled, bent double, and then swiped out with the stick. Kaladin yanked the kid out of the man’s range by the back of Kaladin’s own jacket. “Ellian what the _hell_ do you think you’re _doing_ we can’t afford a _fight_ —”

“You can take him,” Ellian said.

The man stood back up, face red with anger, veins bulging in his face. “That kid is gonna fucking suffer, you dumb bastard,” he swore. “I’ll make his damn face into paste while you watch, and he’ll beg for mercy and you won’t be able to do anything—”

Kaladin didn’t have a weapon, as they’d left most of their things with Jandel, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t fight. He shoved Ellian back, and spat at the man, “don’t touch him,” and then went sprinting, pushing Ellian in front of him, towards the back of the alley. _There. A metal pipe. I knew we passed something like that_ , he thought. 

He snatched the pipe up, and swung it around, getting into his stance. 

The man with the club came barreling down the alley, screaming curses.

Kaladin rammed the makeshift staff into his gut. The man stopped, repelled backwards. Shook himself like a dog. Grunted, picked up the club from where he’d dropped it. “You’re gonna die, boy,” he said. 

“I want to not die,” Kaladin said, and swung the staff into the man’s neck. He dropped like a stone.

Ellian started to laugh. “Holy…holy fates, Kaladin,” he said. Before Kaladin could stop him, the thirteen year old ran out and grabbed the club. 

“What are you—”

Ellian brought the weapon down on the unconscious man’s face. Blood squirted from more than one point where the nails had hit his face.

“Ellian you need to stop!” Kaladin said, jumping forwards to try and grab the club from the kid’s hands. Ellian kept swinging, over and over, at the man. His nose was crushed. Blood poured from wounds in his face, and one of his eyes looked squashed wrong. There were bones in the wrong places in his one cheek. “Ellian! Stop it, he’ll _die!”_

Ellian looked Kaladin in the eye. “Good,” he said, and brought the club down one last time. Something in the man’s face gave, and his nose moved into his skull a few more inches. 

There was no coming back from that.

“Ellian you just _killed someone_!” Kaladin said.

“Self defense,” Ellian said. “I’ve done it before.”

“You’ve _done it before?”_ Kaladin shrieked.

Ellian looked at him for a long moment. He dropped the club. 

“No,” he whispered. “But I could have. I really…” Ellian’s eyes welled up with tears. 

“It’s okay,” Kaladin said. 

Ellian kept crying. _What do I do what do I do_ …

“We have to leave,” Kaladin said. “Come on. Here, go into one of the pockets, there should be a pastry in it.”

Ellian sniffled. “What kind of pastry?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know anything about pastries,” Kaladin said. “It’s probably delicious though. Stop crying and eat it.”

Ellian nodded tearfully. “I…I just,” he said. “I got angry, and I, and that guy, now he’s—”

“We’re _leaving_ now,” Kaladin said, a little bit more forcefully. “It was self defense.”

“I feel sick,” Ellian sobbed out.

“That happens,” Kaladin said. “If you need to throw up, do it now.”

Ellian stopped crying long enough to stare at Kaladin. “People do that?”

“All the time,” Kaladin said. “Kids younger than you go to war all the time and have to fight people. You’ll be alright.”

“I just…he… _I’ll_ be alright?” Ellian said. His voice hitched, but he wasn’t crying any more, so Kaladin didn’t bring it up. “He’s _dead_!”

“And you’re not,” Kaladin said. “Life before death.”

Ellian blinked up at him. “Alright,” he said. “I’m Ellian, and I want to not die.”

Kaladin nodded. “I’m Kaladin, and I also want to not die. Let’s get out of here.”

“Lets get out of here,” Ellian agreed.

They left the alleyway. Eyes watched them from the darkness, but no one dared give them any trouble.


	30. Unity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You want hot soup?   
> I want cold soup.   
> _You're one of us_.   
>  Wait, what?

Ellian and Kaladin finally made it to the Vision at almost one in the afternoon. Jandel looked worried, and was sitting inside right by the door. 

“Kor’ad made it back?” Kaladin asked. 

“Yeah,” Jandel said. “Is he okay? There’s blood on his shoes.”

“We had…trouble,” said Kaladin.

“We could handle it,” said Ellian. 

“I handled it, and then you broke down crying,” Kaladin said. 

“You sorta handled it. I finished the job.”

Kaladin tried not to sigh. “We got into a fight,” he said. “Some guy wanted to shake me and Ellian down, and instead I put him out and Ellian broke his nose.”

“Good for you, kid,” Jandel said.

Kaladin shook his head. Pointed at Ellian, and then mimed drawing a line over his throat. Hopefully he’d get it. 

“Glad you can hold your own in a fight,” Jandel continued. Ellian seemed to wilt. 

“He killed an unconscious man,” Kaladin explained. 

Jandel blinked. “Oh.”

Ellian looked at Kaladin.

“We can’t just not tell him that,” Kaladin said.

“Sure we could,” said Ellian. “It’s called keeping your mouth shut. People do it all the time.”

“We could have pretended that nothing happened to Serin, too. It affected you, so it affects all of us. We’re in a group.”

Ellian nodded. “I’m going up to our room, if we have one.”

“Two, actually,” said Jandel. “You can hang out with Kor’ad, if you want. We have a game board up there.”

Ellian sighed, and then nodded. “Okay.”

He vanished up the stairs.

“I think he’s not telling us something,” Kaladin said. “Something happened to him, before he ran away. I don’t know what, but I don’t like what my mind is coming up with.”

“None of us had it easy, growing up,” Jandel said. “He doesn’t want to talk about it? Let the kid not talk about it. Some of us need our secrets to feel safe.”

“I can understand that,” Kaladin said. “I just want to help.”

“I can understand that,” Jandel echoed, “but sometimes there’s nothing you can do. He’ll tell you if he really needs to talk to someone.”

Kaladin nodded. “Storms, I’m hungry. Do they have food here? All I’ve had, all day, is a pastry cake.”

“Yeah, they make food here. Give me one second.”

Jandel walked to the bar. Kaladin, being without anything to do except stew in his thoughts, followed Jandel instead of sitting idly. 

“Shen,” said Jandel. “This is…Kaladin. He would like a bowl of soup.”

The teenager working behind the bar jumped and looked at Kaladin. “A…bowl of soup.”

Kaladin nodded. “I would like that.”

“A hot bowl of soup? Not cold?”

“No,” said Kaladin. “It’s boiling outside already.”

“Right,” she said, and smiled sharply. “So you know that the package is where you asked us to put it.”

 _What?_ _Does she mean Kor’ad’s barrel_? “That’s good to know,” Kaladin said carefully. 

She blinked twice. “And the machine is in use.”

“It is,” Kaladin agreed.

She nodded solemnly. _What in the hell is going on?_ “So you are who I think you are.”

“I suppose I am.”

“ _What!”_ exclaimed Jandel.

Kaladin looked at him. 

“Don’t pay him any mind,” the teenager said. “He is not fully initiated.”

“Right,” Kaladin said. 

“We know the truths about the world,” she said, and waited for him to fill something in. 

“They, uh…come before anything else,” Kaladin said, trying to figure out how to _make this make any sense._ He thought about it for a second. _If I say something cryptic, maybe she’ll_ stop _being as cryptic._

“That it does,” she grinned. Jandel gaped at him.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Jandel asked. 

_Um._ “I…”

“It’s unimportant,” the girl hissed. “I am Shen. You know who I am, of course?”

“Of course. And you know who I am.”

“Cyr, the secret-keeper,” said Shen. “We know many things. The fire burns brightly, but the glow of knowledge is brighter.”

“That it is. And the glow of truth is brightest of all.” He scrambled for a fitting statement. That seemed to work.

She nodded. “You don’t need to prove it any more,” she said. “We know you’re one of us.”

Kaladin stared at the aged wood of the bar itself instead of meeting any of their eyes. “Um. Actually,” he said.

“Actually,” Shen prompted him. “Actually what.”

“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” Kaladin said. “I can’t even keep up with this. What in the hell is going on?”

Shen took a step back, and tilted her head. “Is this a joke?”

“No,” Kaladin said. “Are you going to explain it?”

“I don’t believe I will,” she said. “I don’t believe you at all.”

Kaladin nodded, and picked at a peeling piece of varnish on the bar. 

“You should know,” she said softly. “We know where it is, and how to use it. You cannot stop us. We will win if you try something, and you must know. It’s safer just to join us.”

Kaladin…had _no_ idea what was going on. “Safety isn’t always the most important thing,” he said.

“Our ideals say that it is,” she said.

“Ideals change,” Kaladin shot back. 

She nodded once. “You’ve joined _him,_ then.”

Kaladin shrugged. “Depends on who you think he is.”

“He is…the dark one. Who carries a sword that drinks in light and consumes life. The god of balance,” she continued cryptically. Everything she did was cryptic. Why was this all so cryptic. Kaladin was going to throw something if this didn’t _stop_ being so damned cryptic. 

“ _He_ is sounding like someone I don’t know,” Kaladin said. “I don’t make a habit of befriending…gods…” Kaladin trailed off. “ _Oh_ , you mean one of the Venerate.”

 _“Yes,_ I mean one of the Venerate,” she said.

 _She has to be talking about me being Kaladin and Cyr at the same time_ , Kaladin realized. _That’s the only explanation that makes any sense._

“I might have joined him, then,” Kaladin said. “Or he might have joined _me_. How would you know?”

She started. “You were the one who realized?”

“I…might have been.”

“Not Andrael? This is…very important news.”

“Wait. What are you _talking about_?” Kaladin asked. “Andrael’s _alive_?”

“Of course not. What are you talking about?”

“Me being two people at once,” Kaladin said. “You…weren’t talking about that at all.”

“I was not,” she said. “That’s fascinating. So you are both Cyr and someone else?”

“Yep,” Kaladin said. 

“And you can remember all of Cyr’s life?”

“Nope,” Kaladin said. “I have holes. He wiped someone out of his mind, and they show up a lot in those memories. The last Venerate. T-something.”

“Tal’kamar.”

“Yeah. Him.”

“That’s utterly fascinating,” she said. “He was _erased_ from Cyr’s mind before Cyr joined with you?”

“Yes,” said Kaladin. “You really thought I _joined forces_ with that madman?”

“It seemed likely, considering the way you were stumbling through this conversation,” she said. “It sounded like what you were trying to hint at. Cyr, what are you—”

“It’s Kaladin, this side of the Boundary,” Kaladin said. 

“Right. Kaladin, what are you trying to get out of pretending to know who Jandel and I are? How does this help you in any way? It could have put your life in great danger, I’ll have you know.”

“There are fates worse than death,” Kaladin said softly. “I’ve experienced all of them.”

“That’s not disturbing at all,” Jandel said. “Look, Shen, he’s basically just a kid, and he’s had a rough day. Come on, Kaladin,” Jandel said, grabbing Kaladin’s shirt and hauling him off the stool with it. “Are these _bandages_ under your shirt?”

“I was stepped on by a horse,” Kaladin said.

“You should have healed it!” Jandel said.

“It’s mostly healed.”

“You should be able to do it _right_ , though,” Jandel insisted. Shen nodded. 

“You were a god of healing, in the Desriel pantheon,” she said. 

“Right,” Kaladin said. “Well. I don’t know how to use Essence, so that might be a problem.”

Shen took a deep breath. “You don’t know how to use Essence.”

“I don’t know how to use Essence,” he repeated. 

“But you were stepped on by a _horse_ ,” she said, “and you’re up and walking around.” 

“I’ve survived worse,” Kaladin said. _Although I was using Stormlight…_

“Because you can use Essence!” Jandel cut in. “That’s why you can survive things, Kaladin.”

Kaladin tried not to pull a face. “I’m lucky, but I really don’t know how to use Essence.”

Shen put a two fingers on Kaladin’s forehead, and he jerked back. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for your Reserve,” she said.

“You can use Essence? Can you teach me?”

She sighed. “I cannot _use_ Essence. Just sense it.”

Kaladin nodded. “Sounds like I could still use the help, though.”

She shrugged. “It’s like reaching out, but with the back of your mind instead of your body… _fates_ , you have a huge Reserve. It’s bigger than I would have realized.”

Kaladin shrugged. “I don’t know what a normal Reserve is supposed to feel like.”

She nodded. “Well, you have a lot of Essence there.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not even a little bit,” she said.

“Cool,” said Kaladin.

“So you say you _don’t know_ how to use Essence?” she asked. “How have you not done anything with it?”

“I think I might have accidentally healed myself,” Kaladin said, “but I can’t do it on purpose, so that really doesn’t help me much.”

“Well, what did it _feel_ like?” she asked. “Replicate that.”

“Being stepped on by a storming _horse_?”

“Well, maybe not that part,” she said. “You wanted soup?” 

“And bread, if you have it,” Kaladin said.

“Sounds about right,” she said, and walked back into the tavern’s kitchen. 

Kaladin turned to look at Jandel. “What in the _hell_ just happened?”


	31. Ellian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No, no, no, no, no_ , Kaladin thought.   
> Another scream pierced the air.   
> _No no no no no_

They left the city that morning after the last of the flying dark creatures had fled, and Kor’ad wasn’t even harried as they left.

It was nice, but Kaladin was _not_ looking forwards to any more time spent in these damned woods. 

“Where are we headed?” Kor’ad asked Jandel.

“Just straight on down the road, for now,” Jandel said.

“Oh come on, more of this secrecy?” Kor’ad muttered. “You’ve got some shady dealing going on, and we _all_ know it. You can read, but you pretended you couldn’t. You told me you got rid of your armor, but you didn’t do anything with it until we got to the city. You somehow got us lodgings in that fates-cursed tavern, even though you don’t have any storming money. What next, you’re part of a secret society or something?”

Jandel’s face went perfectly, totally blank. 

“Oh you have to be _kidding_ me,” Kor’ad said. 

“I didn’t say anything!” Jandel protested. 

“Do you have a damn _codename_?” Kor’ad continued. “Let me guess, something stupid like ‘candle,’ or something.”

Jandel didn’t hide the flinch half as well that time.

“ _What_. What in El’s name…you have to be _kidding_ me,” Kor’ad groaned. “Really? The word that _rhymes_ with your name?”

“We were talking to his cohort in the bar,” Kaladin said. 

“Oh, so you knew?”

“I figured you did too,” Kaladin said. “They threatened to kill me.”

“But, well,” said Jandel. “This way I never told you anything.”

“ _That’s_ what you’re concerned about?” Kor’ad was nearly yelling by now.

“ _Yes_! Of course I am! They can read people’s minds!” Jandel was also nearly yelling by now. 

“They can _what_.” 

“I’m serious,” Jandel said. “It’s…terrifying.”

“How in the _hell_ did you get wrapped up in that?” Kor’ad asked. 

“Are we sitting around a fire spilling our sob stories right now?” Jandel asked. “I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s final.”

“Are you _kidding_ me,” Kor’ad muttered again. “Fine, fine, I won’t ask. But I don’t trust like that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Jandel said. “But I’m serious. We keep going down this way until we make it to Valern. My, er, contact informed me that we’re only about day and a half’s walk.”

“Valern is another city?” Kaladin asked.

“Valern doesn’t have a wall, but they have a better set of defenses. I have a, um. A _friend_ I have to meet there.”

“We’re only a couple of days away?”

“At the most, yeah,” Jandel said, pulling out a new map. “Here, you can see it for yourself. Not close, but not as far as it could be.”

Kaladin looked. “Looks like we should make it a fair bit sooner than that,” he said. “Maybe one day, if we hurry.”

 _“You_ want to hurry?”

“Yeah,” Kaladin said. “My ankle isn’t broken any more.”

Kor’ad tapped both of their shoulders.

“What?” Kaladin asked. 

“Where the hell is _Ellian_?”

* * *

“Ellian?” Kaladin yelled for what felt like the hundredth time.

There was, again, no response. 

It had almost been half an hour. 

Fates.

“Ellian,” Kaladin shouted again. “Ellian, where are you?”

There was no response. 

Kaladin was getting deja vu.

“Ellian!” Kaladin yelled again. 

_Syl,_ his mind supplied unhelpfully. _This is exactly like what happened with Syl._

He shook the thought off and opened his mouth to shout again, but a thick hand wrapped itself around his face. Kaladin immediately went into attack mode, ramming the butt of his spear into his attacker’s gut and whirling to pin them between the trunk of a tree and the spear’s point. 

Warren stared back at him, black-veined eyes wide. A finger pressed to his lips. 

“What did you just try to do?” Kaladin asked. 

“Nothing,” Warren whispered. “Keep your voice down.”

“What?” 

“There’s…there are _things_ abroad,” Warren said, “and you need to _know_. Where’s Ellian?”

“I don’t know,” Kaladin said. “I can still stop you if I’m not holding a spear to your neck,” he warned, but dropped the weapon. “Tell me what you think I need to know.”

“There are…dar’gaithn. And other things, too. Snake people, mostly, but also soldiers. You need to be careful. They’ll hurt you, or worse. You can’t fight them.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Kaladin said. “Any advice?” 

“Come back to the city, if you can,” Warren said. “Or get to somewhere safe as quickly as you can.”

“Have _you_ seen—”

A piercing shriek cut the air. Kaladin couldn’t tell who it was, but he had his suspicions. 

“Ellian?” Kaladin yelled, running towards the source. Warren stared after him for a second, and then charged with him. 

The person shrieked again. 

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no…_

Kaladin and Warren burst into a small clearing to find two soldiers, helmeted and all, in Telaesthesia towering over Ellain and a bloodied Jandel. 

“Kaladin!” Ellian yelped. He made an aborted movement towards the two of them, but one of the soldiers knocked him to the ground with an incredibly fast, almost light-looking tap to the back of the head. The other one hit him with the butt of his sword, and Kaladin swore he could hear bones crunch. _No. No. No._

He raised his spear. 

The soldier that had hit Ellian with his sword started forwards, moving like liquid lightning.

And then something dark rubbed up against Kaladin’s consciousness, and everything…slowed down.

Warren, mid-step, seemed to be almost suspended in the air. The man’s swinging sword suddenly seemed slow enough that Kaladin could knock it out of the way with ease. He tried to smack it away from him on the flat of the blade, but whatever he was doing was _magnifying_ all of his actions, and instead of just deflecting the swing, the sword cracked down the length of the blade and shattered into pieces that fell so slowly that it looked like it was moving through water. Kaladin bit back a snarl. They would not hurt his friends. 

The first one, whose sword Kaladin had broke, started to take a sluggish step forwards. Kaladin considered the scene for a second, and then tried to ram his spear into their breastplate. He didn’t think to extend the dark…bubble of whatever it was holding him in this slowed-down space of time, and rather than move forwards the spear itself dissolved in his hands. Kaladin tried not to panic. On instinct more than actual thought, he pushed outward with, with, with some sort of sense that he hadn’t known he’d had, and grabbed Ellian and Jandel. Time crashed into him, for just a second, and then blinked back, but it was still moving more quickly than it had been. 

He tightened his grip on the two unconscious people, preparing to drag them out of harm’s way. Then he stopped. _I won’t break them. I shouldn’t break them, now. The time bubble should protect them. I can move them—OH no that’s a sword swinging at Jandel’s head, better move them…_

He carefully dragged the two of them into the forest and let them back into the stream of time. Everything slowed down a bit more once again. It took almost five seconds for the soldier’s sword to finally hit the ground where Jandel’s neck had been. 

Kaladin rolled his shoulders and wrapped his sleeve around his hand. 

He walked up to the soldiers. 

He _pushed,_ as hard as he could.

The first soldier flew backwards and hit into a tree hard enough to crack the plate into individual scales once again. Inside, the person who had been wearing the armor—Kaladin realized with a jolt they were an older woman—was bloodied and unconscious. Kaladin didn’t bother to do anything more to them, but instead whirled and grabbed onto the arm of the other soldier. He yanked, hard, and kicked the soldier’s legs out from underneath them. The soldier managed to impale themself on their own sword, and Kaladin blinked at them for a cursory moment before he realized they were safe. 

He registered a blooming pain behind his eyes just long enough for it to start to worry him before the world went black and time hit into him, _trampling_ him like a rockbud under a herd of chull.


	32. Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaladin is, once again, himself

Kaladin opened his eyes just enough to determine that he _really_ didn’t want to have his eyes open. It felt like his head was full of water, and any motion sent his skull blooming with vibrating agony. His eyes felt like they were going to melt out of his face. _Storms. What happened_.

The forest. The soldiers. Fates, they had hurt _Ellian._ Where was he? Were they safe?” 

He opened his eyes and shot bolt upright, and his vision actually blacked out for a second. Whoops. Pain lanced through his head and stayed there, vibrating. He tried to blink it away. _That’s dehydration, I would bet on it, and there’s something else, too_. 

“Ellian?” he tried to croak. Nothing came out of his mouth. 

He glanced around. This was a small room, dark, with no light streaming in from the small window. It smelled like another tavern, and the faint, yet still unpleasant babbling noise coming from _somewhere_ outside the place suggested that that guess would be correct. Ellian’s threadbare cloak was knotted around him as though he’d been dragged. 

_What happened? How long was I out?_

Kaladin tried to play back the events in his tortured-feeling skull. _Ellian vanished. Warren appeared. Fates, what happened to Warren? I don’t remember. No. Wait, I’m going over the events. Ellian vanished, and then Warren showed up, and then there was Ellian and Jandel and two soldiers in Telaesthesia. Jandel was bleeding. Was he unconscious? I don’t remember. He was on the ground. Fates, was he alright? I don’t know. I didn’t check him. I fought the soldiers instead, and did, did, did something. I did the slowing-down-everything-else thing._

Cyr’s memories helpfully supplied that he had been able to do that for a long time now. 

They didn’t tell him _what_ it was, or how he did it, but Kaladin remembered that about as well as he could hope for. That dark, slippery sort of energy had all but reached out to him, and then he…made time stop. That was where it got hard to remember. How _had_ he done that? It had all felt as easy as breathing. 

Whatever it was, it had worked. But Ellian. What had happened to _Ellian_? A hard enough hit to the back of the head could kill someone, and even if it didn’t kill him he was _very concerned_. The telaesthesia gave its wearer incredible strength and speed, and even though he couldn’t remember how it worked he knew it was _not_ good to be on the opposite side of someone in the armor. 

Hell, if Ellian or Jandel were _dead_ —

His mind immediately shied away from the thought. No. He could protect them. He _had_ protected them. They were okay. They had to be. 

He clenched his teeth and stood up. _Damn_ this headache! Stars seemed to explode and collide behind his eyeballs as he moved his head more than the slightest bit, and his fingers tingled and went numb with the agony of it for a second. This was blustering awful. He hated it. Storms take it, he hated it. 

And there was something almost _glowing_ inside of him, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. 

Fates, but focusing on it made him want to throw up. His _head_ …

That had to be his Reserve. Cyr’s memories hadn’t prepared him for it being so storming _bright_. But if he could pull anything out of it, he would…he would be able to heal his headache, he thought. 

Probably.

Maybe.

He tried to reach for the glowing lights in his chest, but he couldn’t figure out how to transfer Ellian’s metaphorical to the metaphysical, and so he wasn’t able to get a grip on the energy and it didn’t do anything at all. He gritted his teeth and tried to reach out for it.

Nothing happened. 

Well, his head hurt, but that wasn’t exactly a result. 

He reached a hand up to massage his temples and immediately discovered that that was making it worse. He took a deep breath. He took another deep breath. It didn’t do anything. 

_What to do for a headache_ …

 _Rest. Sleep it off. Water, if possible_. 

So far as he could tell, there was no water in the room. But Kaladin didn’t want to walk to the main room of whatever damned tavern this was and have to _talk_ to someone for a drink—not with this headache, anyway—so instead he slowly sat down on the bed and closed his eyes. In the near darkness, with the fatigue he was feeling, it should have been easy to fall asleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, though, he saw, _heard_ , Ellian being hit from behind by the pommel of one of Alaris’s own soldiers’ swords. 

It was a long time before he could actually rest.

* * *

Kaladin woke up, blessedly without any more of that blinding headache but with a throat that felt like sandpaper and eyes that felt almost like they were impossible to open. He rubbed at them uncomfortably, only to find that they were open. The room was just _that_ dark. 

What had woken him up?

Something very quietly creaked. Kaladin suddenly felt the urge to hold his breath, but he very carefully made sure to breathe out at the same rhythm that he thought he had been breathing in. He listened intently. 

Someone took a nearly-silent breath in.

Kaladin kept frozen, but prepared to move quickly if need be. The person slowly, almost silently, tiptoed towards what they likely thought was his unconscious body…

The footsteps were nearly at Kaladin’s side. He couldn’t see anything, still. He found himself unconsciously holding his breath.

A hand grabbed and carefully tugged Ellian’s cloak off of the headboard of the bed that Kaladin had slung it over. Kaladin could hear the fabric slide. 

Wait. 

“Ellian?” he croaked.

The person yelped, falling over with a loud thump. “Kaladin? You’re awake!” 

It was _not_ Ellian. 

“Um. Warren?” Kaladin asked. Damn, he needed a drink. His voice sounded like the call of a crow. 

“That’s me,” the Shadow said from where he was sprawled out on the floor. “Um. When did you wake up?”

“I don’t know,” Kaladin said. _I’m not going to tell Warren that he was what woke me up._

“Well, um,” said Warren. “It’s good that you’re up. Since you, uh. Slept for almost three days.”

Kaladin blinked. “I slept for how long?”

“Um. It’s been three…er, actually, now that I think about it, four days. You…you did…something, and then…er…passed out.”

“Right,” said Kalaidn. 

“Right,” said Warren. “Well. It’s late. I’ll see you in the morning, I guess—”

“Wait!” Kaladin yelped. 

“What?” 

“Ellian and Jandel. What—are they—”

Warren didn’t say anything for a long moment, and when he did his voice sounded heavy. “I…we can talk about them in the morning,” he said.

The door squeaked open and then shut again, and Kaladin was left to his expanding worries.

He took a long time to fall asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i still need u to write aktag fam


	33. Interlude - Meldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blame pen-and-sword  
> UPDATE PLEASE  
> THEN WE CAN KNOW IF ELLIAN IS ALIVE

Meldier took a shuddering breath, or tried to. Everything was black. Cold. The sword had pierced his chest under his ribs, and the pain was fading, replaced by the icy cold of shock. This was the end. He was dying. He felt like he was drowning. 

Wait.

He _was _drowning.__

____

And beyond that, he wasn’t even in pain.

__

Meldier struggled up, panicking. He opened his eyes to see a faint, bright light above him; it was blocked out by what looked like hundreds of clear rocks, or maybe glass beads. 

__

Huh. 

__

He tried to take a breath past the beads, but couldn’t draw one in as they started to clog his nose and mouth. Heart beating fast, Meldier tried to almost swim upwards, but the beads were heavier than water and harder to move though and he wasn’t moving as fast as he needed to be. 

__

His lungs weren’t burning like they should have been.

__

_This day is just getting worse and worse, isn’t it?_ Meldier thought. He never thought hell would be this…glass-bead-y. 

__

He stopped for a second to try and take the beads away from his face so he could breathe, but breathing wasn’t even important, it would seem. So instead, he tried to move towards the light again. 

__

He was almost there when something heavy and hard struck him from behind and seemed to plow over him. 

__

He tried to scream, but the beads were inside his mouth. 

__

The heavy thing moved across him, and as he turned tot try and _see_ what what was going on what looked like an enormous rudder turned and swung out towards him. Meldier yelped and grabbed a hold of it. This was a glass-ocean-traversing boat?

__

Honestly, at this point, he wasn’t even surprised. 

__

He hauled himself up higher on the rudder with shaking, fatigued arms and finally seemed to reach the end of the vessel. The thing was not smooth, as he had feared, but instead had plenty of handholds, so the recently deceased ex-Venerate set his shoulders back, gritted he s teeth, and pulled his knees up out of the watestrange water-like mass of glass beads to try and start to climb up. 

__

He couldn’t make it all the way up. About halfway, his arms started shaking, and then his grip weakened and he was sure he couldn’t make it any further without falling. Meldier knew his limits, and he was well past them. He tried to yell, but he was exhausted, and all that came out was a weak croak. 

__

He closed his eyes and hung on for dear life. Or, well. Afterlife, in this case. 

__

* * *

__

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he nearly lost his death-grip on the ship in surprise.

__

“Who are you?” asked a strange man made out of light. This one was… _not_ like El. Possible to look at, for one thing , and not radiating the same aura of power. Meldier still felt that this had to be a sign, though. 

__

“What are you?” Meldier asked. “Where am I? Did El send you?”

__

“What? Who?” asked the glowing man. “You’re on our ship.”

__

“I. Where is this ship?” Meldier asked. One question at a time, he figured. 

__

“We’re in the middle of the ocean. Storms, who _are_ you?” the man insisted. 

__

“Meldier,” said Meldier. “Is this the Darklands? Didn’t expect it to be so…beady.”

__

The man squinted at him. “Meldier, let’s get you onboard, and then I can answer your questions. Long as you stop being so….er, inscrutable,” he said. “My name’s Jaralin.”

__

Meldier allowed the other man to help him up and onto the main deck, and then he flopped out on his back and just laid there. The sky was…solid black, and highly disturbing. Other glowing figures rushed from place to place. 

__

“What…whose ship is this?” Meldier asked Jaralin, who looked _extremely concerned_.

__

“It’s just an honorspren guardship—”

__

“Spren!” said Meldier. “Those were what Cyr was talking about! Is this Roshar?”

__

Jaralin squinted at him. “What is a Roshar?”

__

“A planet, I think,” Meldier said. “I know a man who said he was from Roshar. Er, knew, I guess.”

__

Jaralin frowned. “You knew a human?”

__

“I _am_ a human.” 

__

Jaralin snorted. “We are both honorspren, Meldier,” he said. 

__

And then… “Stormfather, you’re _serious_.” 

__

“Wait,” Meldier said. “Honorspren. Cyr was talking about honorspren, I think. And windspren. Do you know, an, uh. Syl? Or maybe Sylphrena—”

__

“ _You know where she is_?” Jaralin yelped. 

__

“…no,” said Meldier.

__

“Storms,” Jaralin said, just like Cyr had started to, “why do you know her name, then?”

__

“I knew a guy who said he was friends with her—”

__

“Where’s _he_ , then?” 

__

“Why are you so concerned?” Meldier asked. 

__

“We—all of us—we’re _looking for her_ ,” he said. “You should be too. Instead of, of, of _fraternizing with the humans!_ ” 

__

Meldier reached a hand up to his temple and was startled to notice that the hair he had expected to be pulled back into a ponytail like it always had been was _not there_. He reached up and discovered that his hair had been cropped short, like a servant’s.

__

_Lovely._

__

“I fraternize with humans because I _am_ a human,” Meldier said. 

__

“You’re an _honorspren_ ,” Jaralin insisted. “Just like I’m an honorspren, and she,” he pointed at another glowing figure, “is an honorspren, and we’re _all honorspren here_ ,” Jaralin gestured, “you are _not a human,_ you’re an _honorspren_ , we’re all _honorspren_ , please get that _through your head_!” 

__

Meldier shrugged. “I’m not an honorspren—”

__

“Ughhh,” Jaralin groaned. “Look at your blustering hands.” He grabbed for Meldier’s hands, and held them up. 

__

His hands. They were glowing a pale blue-white, like the color of Essence itself.

__

“What the _hell_ …” 

__

Jaralin looked about ready to bash Meldier’s face in. “Spren. You are a spren. You are a damned honorspren. You’re not a storming human, you’re a storming honorspren, Meldier.”

__

“I _was_ a—” 

__

“You are a spren!”

__

“I wasn’t before I got _stabbed!”_ Meldier shouted. 

__

“You got _stabbed_?” Jaralin sounded horrified. “Was it a liespren?” 

__

“A what?”

__

“A liespren. A Cryptic. Was it a Cryptic?”

__

“…no,” said Meldier. “It was an old friend. Who was also, marginally, human. Everyone I know—knew—was a human, or at least pretty close. I think the Shalis count as humanish, anyway.”

__

“There aren’t that many humans in all of Shadesmar,” said Jaralin.

__

“This place is called Shadesmar?” Meldier asked.

__

“Yeeees.” Jaralin sounded exhausted.

__

“Right, right,” said Meldier. “So it _is_ the Darklands, right?” 

__

Jaralin raised his glowing hand to the bridge of his glowing nose. “I don’t know what the Darklands are,” he gritted out. “This is Shadesmar. Not anything else.”

__

“I don’t understand—” Meldier said, but Jaralin was already walking away. 

__


	34. Interlude - Elissa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa is Not what you think she is.   
> Snake is Not who you think he is.   
> nothing is as it seems. much like the actual Licanius series, you would be well served by not trusting anyone.

Elissa rested her elbows on the grimy, filthy spiderwebbed windowsill of the small apartment wherein she had been told to meet with a person whose name she didn’t know for reasons she had never been given, and wondered what in fates could have happened to Kor’ad.

The nobleman, Cyr, Kaladin, whatever his name was—she mused while tapping on the dust-coated window—seemed genuinely interested in helping them. But Elissa knew better than to trust a highborn, and he certainly had looked like one, even if he acted like he wasn’t.

She straightened up, tripped on a loose plank of wood in the flooring, and grabbed the windowsill for balance. It would be a nice view, if it weren’t so filthy. But she couldn’t afford to open the window or leave any trace of her coming, so there was nothing she could do save squint and know that it would have been a wonderful sight if she were to actually get to _see_ it.

She stripped off the leather glove she had had on her right hand and ran her fingers through her hair nervously. _El take this secret agent business_ , she thought, and pulled a ribbon out of her bag. Deftly, with only one hand, she put her hair up in a loose bun. There was no need for it to be in her way, and she didn’t want to deal with it.

Despite the hot weather, she shoved her hand back into the glove before she returned to staring moodily out the window.

She had a short paring knife in her sleeve, and a long hunting knife in her boot, and a short sword made excellently for killing in the shadows strapped to her hip under her dress. There was a vial of poison, labeled with the words _water_ in her bag, and a vial of antidote labeled _antidote_ , and the antidote was laced with another, slower, less noticeable poison. The antidote to that one happened to not exist. 

Someone who went by the name of Snake, a scruffy-bearded older man who looked like a drunk, talked like a librarian with a high-pitched, quivering voice, and walked with a pronounced limp, had told her to hand the vial of poison to one person and the antidote to another. He claimed to have a letter from her brother in return for it. 

She hadn’t done that yet, and every step she took with the vials in her pocket weighed on her conscience like killing people outright never could have. 

_I will not let him down, I swear. I will not let him down. I will_ not _let him down._

 _Damn_ that Cyr for giving up on them! She would do something about that if he ever returned. He would deserve whatever he got. 

Just like Meldier.

 _Exactly_ like Meldier, actually. She had been informed that the powder she’d laced the wine that she’d given Cyr to drink with the lordly asshole would slow his reflexes, but she hadn’t been able to trust the vendor’s word until Meldier was found dead at the hands of a child holding his own damn sword. 

Needless to say, she had been ecstatic. 

Cyr was just like the other Venerate, though, much as a part of her didn’t want to admit or accept it. He didn’t care about the people. He didn’t care about any of them, only his misguided idea of what he thought the world should look like and _his_ goals. Just like every other nobleman she’d ever scraped her knees bowing for, if she was honest. One rich highborn was much like the rest of them. Even if they seemed different. 

Royalty always lies. 

She turned back to her window, and against her better judgement started to trace lines and curls and random shapes into the nearly full centimeter of dust that had accumulated on the face of the glass. She pushed back the sleeve on her left hand, the one without the knife, and wiped away some of the dust. The view from here really was spectacular. She wished the single window in the bedroom of the apartment she shared with her brother Airan was nearly as nice as this one.

“Gecko? Are you here?” a quavering voice asked.

“I am,” Elissa said. “Snake?”

“That would be me,” the old man said, wooden cane clacking on the ground ominously as he made his laborious way into the room. The old man always had a different cane with him, a new one each time Elissa had ever met with him. Todays was a simple, black-painted wooden spike with a very thin, pointed bottom. Elissa would bet good money that it was a sword cane, and the rattling noise it made every time Snake took a step seemed to suggest that she wasn’t wrong. It was a good reminder that he was armed. If Snake had a sword cane, he could doubtless use it—and if he could use a sword cane, and he had a sword cane, the limp was either feigned or enhanced to make it seem worse. He could easily kill her, Elissa realized. This was not the first time she had come to this realization about the old man, though.

The Truthguards were not to be trifled with.

With a barely audible sigh, Elissa tore herself from the view of the Citadel from out the window and looked back at the older man.

“The fire burns brightly,” she said.

Snake nodded. “I know, I know,” he said in his reedy, thin I’m-an-old-weak-man voice, “we do this every time.”

“True, true,” Elissa said. “But I still need the password.”

“The fire burns brightly, but the glow of knowledge is brighter,” Snake said. He sounded uncertain, but that could just have been because he was old and trying to sound even older.

“Right,” said Elissa.

“Report,” said Snake.

“Cyr is gone,” she said, touching her hands behind her back. She swung them back to the front of her and eventually settled on leaving them at her sides. Hopefully that didn’t look too uncomfortable. “Cyr is gone, and he has been for a while. Alaris is getting worried, but there is nothing that he can do. He took Licanius somewhere recently, and I don’t know where, but I don’t trust it, seems like something someone would do if they didn’t want anyone else to know what they wanted to do with a super-powerful weapon, if you get my drift.”

“I do,” said Snake. A faint frown deepened the creases in between his eyebrows. “We are aware of all of these things.”

“Kitchen gossip says that Lady Diarys might be back soon,” she offered. “One of the people I work with says that up north a bit further, one of the smaller cities burned and is currently being repaired.”

“This we are also aware of,” Snake said, but the frown was less. “Anything else?” 

“I think that the city guardsmen have found the other Augur,” she said quickly. “The girl, who came with the one who killed Meldier.”

Snake’s eyebrows shot up. The look in his rheumy eyes could almost be described as _hungry._ “They have both been captured?” 

“I believe so,” Elissa said.

“Do you know their names?”

“Only one,” Elissa said. “The boy who stabbed Meldier—his name was Davian.”

She could have sworn she saw Snake’s eyes widen in certain recognition for a split second. “This is helpful indeed,” the old man rasped. “Is that all?”

“I…yes,” she said, clasping her hands. “Is it enough—?”

“We can’t get you in touch with Kor’ad for information that little,” he said, tapping his fingers on the lacquered black wooden head of his sword cane. “I’m afraid it isn’t _nearly_ enough to help us enough to risk it. You’re going to need to do better than that. _However_ , I can tell you that he _is_ alive and beyond the Boundary with another of our agents.”

“He made it?” she asked, voice raising despite herself. She barely restrained herself from taking a step towards Snake. “He’s not injured?”

“He’s likely burned,” Snake said, “but beyond that I don’t know.”

“Do you…know anything else about Kor’ad?” Elissa asked. “How he is, where he is, what he’s doing?”

Snake shrugged. On the body of an old man, it looked more than a little odd. “He has two traveling companions. A child, and a young man.”

“Not any of ours?”

“No,” Snake confirmed. “Not Truthguard agents, for sure. Although we will do our best to convert them to the cause.”

“Indeed,” said Elissa. _A young man and a child. A young man and a child. Who in the hell…a young man and a child…siblings?_

“Is there anything else you might need?” Snake asked kindly, fingers drumming a rhythm on the head of his cane. “Poisons, blackmail, anything?”

“I should be alright,” Elissa said. “Thank you for meeting with me, Snake.”

“You as well, Gecko,” Snake said. “Get home safe.”

She nodded, and stepped out of the room. _I want to know where Snake lives_ , she suddenly thought, and ducked around a corner to wait for the mysterious, ancient spymaster to leave the dilapidated apartment complex and head home.

The only other person who left the building, however, was a stunning woman. Elissa waited for more than three hours, but there was no one else coming.


	35. Speed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Long Awaited Sequel To The Chapter Wherein Two Of Our Characters Get Attacked By Blind Soldiers: nothing is good i promise. 
> 
> this chapter features:   
> Kaladin, vastly overestimating his own abilities!   
> No one knowing how medicine or surgery works because Kaladin never went to school in Kharbranth and also doesn't know any of the antiseptics or anything here, and the people of Andarra are used to relying on the Gifted, so everything sounds like a big, really bad thing!   
> Explosions!   
> Holes in walls, floors, trees, people, various other things!   
> Experimentation!   
> KAN! 
> 
> buckle up, because this chapter is going to be one HELL of a ride

Kaladin woke before the sun did, and as soon as the first rays of light broke over the horizon he jumped out of bed and all but sprinted to put on his clothing and _find Jandel and Ellian_. It seemed as though Jandel had come into a lot of money, or something, because he sure wasn’t sharing a room with anyone.

He stormed out of the room, looked around for a moment, and then realized he had no idea where anyone was. He walked downstairs, instead. Hopefully someone was awake and could direct him to their rooms. 

The main room was a brightly lit, cheery-looking place, but Kaladin didn’t have time to admire the scenery. Someone swathed in a in a heavy, wrapped cloak that hid their face in shadow to an almost ridiculous degree was sitting at a table near the bar, and they were the only one around. He turned to go back upstairs, or _something,_ but they cleared their throat loudly. “Hello.”

“Do you know where I can find some of the people here?” he demanded, and they tilted their head. 

“I know a lot of things,” they said. Kaladin could hear the razor-sharp, dangerous smile in the words. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” said Kaladin. He didn’t have time for this. “Do you know, um. Where Candlelight is?”

Their entire demeanor changed. The hood slipped back, revealing just the faintest hint of a freckled face. “You _know_?”

“I took a guess,” he said. “But I need to know where he and my other traveling companions are.”

“The only one here is the one with the burns,” Cloak said. “Everyone else is in the local clinic—”

“Thanks,” Kaladin said, and sprinted for the door. 

* * *

The local clinic turned out to be just like what Kaladin’s father had had back when Kaladin was younger—a room on the outskirts of town where a surgeon and his wife operated on patients. Kaladin frantically knocked on the door and was greeted by an older woman with a severe bun and heavy bags under her eyes. “More?” she said. 

“More what?” Kaladin asked.

“More _patients_ ,” she said. “We had two last night—”

“A man and a child, yeah. I don’t have any more patients. I need to know if they’re alive.”

She nodded, opening the door. “You knew them as well?”

“Yeah,” Kaladin said. “I was with the, uh. Man with all the burns on his face?”

“That’s right,” she said, “he and the Shadow said they had a third party member who didn’t come with them. What in the world were you doing?”

Kaladin grimaced. “Sleeping.”

“ _Sleeping_?”

“For three days,” he shrugged. “I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Warren—er, the Shadow—said he tried to wake me up, but he couldn’t rouse me.”

“And they _didn’t_ take you to me?”

“I haven’t had the chance to speak to any of them, but I would assume not,” Kaladin said. “Ellian and Jandel. Are they alive?”

“That would be the man and the boy?” she asked. “They’re alive. Although I don’t know how much of a help that is, considering they’re both. Well. Come see for yourself.”

She pushed back a curtain and walked Kaladin through her house to a back room that was _not_ a surgery room by any stretch of the word. 

Jandel and Ellian lay side by side on individual cots in the room. Kaladin noted that Ellian was unusually pale, but Jandel…Jandel looked like _death itself_. 

“What went wrong?” he asked. 

“What do you mean?” she said. “I’m certain you won’t understand—”

“I was trained as a surgeon when I was a child. Try me.”

Her eyes widened. “A _surgeon?”_

“That’s right,” said Kaladin, “though as of late all I’ve done is battlefield injuries, so—”

“I’m no surgeon,” she said, “we were brought up that if it got that bad, you went to the Gifted. This man has a broken spine,” she said, gesturing to Jandel. “I haven’t the faintest idea how to treat it, but I do know that to move him much could paralyze or kill him.”

Kaladin thought about that for a moment.

“I…don’t know how to fix that,” he said. “But. If I said I knew a Gifted, someone who wasn’t in one of the, er. Gifted schools, but who could use Essence…”

“A runaway?” She sounded disapproving.

“Not exactly.”

“Because I noticed that this child has the Mark,” she said. “And if you think I’m going to turn in one of the Gifted, at this point, with everyone in so much danger…son, you’re blind as they come.”

“I am?” Kaladin asked.

“You are. Bring your Bl—um, your Gifted friend. I’ll see you, and them, here in two hours.”

* * *

Kaladin sat down in his room at the tavern.

_I have two hours to learn how to use Essence enough to heal Jandel’s spine_ , he thought. 

_I have two hours to learn how to use Essence, and no one to teach me. But I used the dark energy, and I somehow healed myself back in the other city. How different could it be_?

He sat down and tried to remember how he had done the time slowing thing that he had done, and drew a blank when it came to actually doing it. It had felt instinctual. Just like healing himself had. 

Just like figuring out Stormlight, back when he was still in a world that made sense, had.

He could do this. 

He _had_ to be able to do this.

He would save them.

Even if he had to learn how to use an entire new form of magic in order to do it, he _would_. 

Even if he only had two hours.

_Fates, this is impossible._

He stood up and cracked his knuckles and felt down inside himself for his Reserve. The pool of energy was exactly where it had always been, and just as enormously vast while simultaneously immeasurably small as he had remembered. He tried to remember the feeling of reaching out for the dark energy, and directed it downward—

A torrent of blue-white Essence poured out of his hand and exploded against the window. The entire wall crumbled.

_Fates_. That was it.

And he was also about to be _arrested_ if he couldn’t immediately be out of there. 

He jumped down, out of the opening, and rolled onto the ground where he hit. His ribs protested, but now that he had managed to get to the Essence inside his Reserve he figured he could do it again, and stretched out that section of himself towards it.

Nothing happened.

_Blustering energy!_ Kaladin swore. _Why won’t it come now?_

He pushed himself up, using the momentum from his roll, and started to tear off down the street. By now there were other people awake, and they would know he had done it. His best bet was to get _out of town_ , as soon as possible…

“Hey, stop!” someone yelled. “Did you see what that, that loud noise was? Hey! Stop!”

Kaladin ran faster. Other people started yelling after him, and he spared a glance back. Three men were on his tail. They were, as he watched, joined by more people,

_Storms._

He passed the last of the taller buildings and got into what looked like the outskirts of the town, but he hadn’t passed through here earlier, and if he had he didn’t remember, and he was fairly sure they were trying to catch him now but he didn’t think that would hold up. He squinted, and thought he could see the end of where the town really was. He gritted his teeth and kept running.

The people behind him were faster than he was, though.

One of the citizens grabbed his arm, and Kaladin couldn’t stop himself from exploding with Essence, blowing the man off of him and back. He hit the ground hard, and Kaladin winced. The dark energy was lingering at the edge of his mind, and he could suddenly feel it. Slick and cold, like ice. 

He didn’t have time to try and reach it, but he knew if he did that he could probably slow time again.

He reached the last of the houses and broke away into the forest proper. Some of the people running stopped. 

Too many didn’t.

Kaladin, now properly panicking, threw his mind out and reached for the slick dark energy. He wouldn’t be caught. He _wouldn’t_. 

Time slowed down around him. This time, he could feel what he was doing, and he paid careful attention to it. It was like he was…forcing the dark energy away from him, and in a bubble of…less of it, he supposed. 

And that was it. He slowed to a comfortable pace, catching his breath, and walked as far away from the people as he could. The time around him seemed significantly faster this time than it had been when he did it by accident, but now…well. At least it didn’t seem to matter. He was _away_ , and they couldn’t reach him.

Time to figure out Essence. He had time before he had to figure out how to do what he needed to do. 

* * *

Kaladin was starting to worry about the time when he made a breakthrough.

Technically, that would make it the third breakthrough of the day, but this was about. Well. It was about control.

He found a way to make the Essence he used be _less._ And that seemed to be the way to make Essence heal things, and not just blast holes in them. 

First, Kaladin tried his best to heal the tree he’d blown a chunk out of, and then when it worked and the hole was filled in with new, green growth, he fixed the burns on the palms of his hands. He grabbed at the dark energy, to see if he could do anything with that to make the healing work better, but it slid from his metaphorical grip. Ice, indeed. Ice that melted when you grabbed it.

He rolled his shoulders and stood up.

He immediately tripped into one of the massive holes he’d blasted in the scorched, dead earth. So his experimenting may have been a bit more…destructive than he had hoped. He was better at it now.

_I hope I’m better at it now,_ he thought. _Because I don’t have much choice._

Kaladin picked himself up, brushed the dirt off his clothes, and directed a thin trickle of Essence at his scraped knees to fix them. And then, he started the trip to make it back to the clinic at the outskirts of wherever damned town this was.

* * *

Kaladin turned up a few minutes late, and the older woman was already standing outside with an expression of utmost disgust on her face.

“Where’s your friend, son?” she asked him.

“The friend is me,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s do this?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t got the Mark,” she said, gesturing at his bared forearms.

“Is that necessary?” Kaladin asked. _I didn’t know they were all supposed to have the Mark. I haven’t got one. I…well. I don’t know if this will work, but…_

He very carefully tried to draw out the Essence from his Reserve, lost control of it, and burned the palm of his hand with a ball of poorly contained energy. _Fates, that hurt_. 

“Believe me?” he asked, hiding the wound and surreptitiously healing it with the energy he was holding onto when she glanced up at his face.

“Alright, son,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

She led him inside once again. Neither of them were awake.

“Is something wrong with Ellian?” he asked, gesturing to the kid.

She nodded. “Head inflammation. He won’t wake up, and I suspect a nasty concussion. He should live, but…”

Kaladin nodded. Traumatic head injuries left a lot of things up to fate. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She nodded grimly, and left the room. 

Kaladin cracked his knuckles. This would work. It _had to_. 


	36. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaladin thinks very highly of his very, very new skills. This _might_ be a problem.

Kaladin gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and carefully reached into the heart of his Reserve and dragged out a slender line of Essence into his palm. The energy coiled and twisted like a tiny, glowing snake. 

He held it still, gripping it harder with the sort of…strange mental fingers he had, and tried to pull it thinner, into almost a _string_. He had to do this delicately. 

And then he tried to very carefully slide it off of his hand and down Jandel’s spine.

A scorched line led from where he’d rested his hand to try and move the Essence, over the pillow, and down Jandel’s coat. He couldn’t tell if he had inadvertantly injured his friend, but he…he didn’t trust himself, and so instead he worried. He pulled out another strand of Essence, trying to _soften it_ , and tried again.

This time, the scent of burned cloth was gone, so he counted it as a win. A little bit of the color came back into Jandel’s face. 

Right.

He did it again, and it didn’t go wrong, exactly, but it didn’t seem to work as well as it had the first time, so he tried to almost open up a conduit from himself into Jandel’s back. Maybe giving it more Essence would help?

Jandel lurched, and Kaladin cut off the flow of Essence as quickly as he had started it. _That’s not good, I don’t think_. 

Jandel’s eyes fluttered open. “Kaladin?”

“Jandel!” Kaladin bit his lip. “Are you in pain? What happened?”

He moved to rub at the nape of his neck, and then stopped. “Did someone break my neck?” He sounded just like the normal, jaunty Jandel. It was…heartening, Kaladin supposed. 

“Close. Your spine, right under where your ribs end.”

“Fates, really?”

Kaladin shrugged. “I’m doing my best.”

Jandel squinted at him, “you’re doing _what_ at your best?”

“Um…magic?”

Jandel tried to sit up, and Kaladin had to physically hold him by the shoulders. “You can’t sit up, your _spine_ is broken!”

“You can’t do magic!”

“I…learned,” Kaladin said awkwardly.

“ _When?”_

Kaladin looked away. “Two hours ago?”

“ _You were going to try and magically heal me with magic you only learned two hours ago?”_

Kaladin nodded. 

“Are you _joking_?”

“You were going to _die_! I did what I could.”

Jandel looked at him sharply. “I was going to _die_?”

“Yes, you were going to possibly, probably, die.”

“…alright,” Jandel said. “But for the record, I don’t think you know what you’re doing and I don’t trust it.”

Kaladin nodded. “Glad we can agree.”

“ _You’re glad about that?”_

“I’m not, er. Glad about it, per se,” Kaladin said. “Hold still, I’ll see what I can do for your back.”

“Right,” said Jandel.

Kaladin teased out another thin, long strand of Essence, and tried his best to soften it once more. He poured it down Jandel’s spine. 

“That _burns like fire_!” Jandel yelped. “You need to soften it!”

“I _did_ soften it!”

“Not nearly enough!” 

“Alright,” Kaladin said, and pulled out another thread. Softened it. Softened it some more. _Something_ in the coil of Essence broke, and suddenly it was like water and not a writing, thrashing creature.

He poured that down Jandel’s spine, and he raised an eyebrow. “Did that feel better to you? Because it sure felt better to me.”

“Yes,” said Kaladin.

“Why’d you cut it off, then?”

“I…can’t make it stay like that,” Kaladin said, “so I’ve been doing it one bolt at a time.”

“That’s very, very heartening, son,” Jandel said. “ _So_ reassuring.”

“Wonderful,” Kaladin said weakly. “I’m doing my damned best.”

“Your damned best isn’t damn good enough, but I’ll take it,” Jandel said. “Do another one. It feels less wrong.”

“Right,” said Kaladin, and did the thing again.

And again. 

And again. 

This wasn’t exactly an easy process. 

By the time Jandel was able to move, and yes, Kaladin was sure about it, the sun was nearly touching the horizon, but he still had more work to do. Ellian hadn’t woken up. 

He touched the boy’s forehead and realized that Ellian was running a fever. That he could treat without using Essence, and was far more comfortable doing something he knew would work.

“Can you bring me very, very cold, almost ice-cold water and a clean towel?” Kaladin asked.

“Who, me?” said Jandel.

“Does it look like there’s anyone else here?”

Jandel shrugged. “Be back in one minute.”

“Thanks,” Kaladin said. 

“No problem,” Jandel said, and left. He was walking too slowly for Kaladin’s tastes, but there was nothing else he could do, so instead he pulled up a string of Essence and tried his damnedest to soften it down to a liquid-like piece of energy instead of the bristly strand of abrasive Essence that he was best at taking out. 

He slowly let the energy trickle down and into Ellian. 

Nothing happened, and Kaladin let out a sigh of relief. He really, _really_ didn’t want to hurt the poor kid. 

“I have the water and a towel,” Jandel said, coming in with the older woman hot on his heels. 

“I have food,” she said. “And antiseptic.”

Kaladin glanced over. She had a jar of vaguely cloudy, pale brown liquid. “Is that alcohol?”

“Pure as we could distill it,” she said.

Kaladin tried to fight down a grimace. “Thanks,” he said. 

She nodded, and left the room. 

“Why isn’t she staying?” Jandel hissed. 

“I think it’s because technically what I’m doing is illegal,” Kaladin said, dipping the towel into the water. “This isn’t nearly cold enough.”

“You’re a _special Gifted_ ,” Jandel hissed. “Take the Essence away from the water.”

“What?” Kaladin said. “Ellian told me Gifted can only take Essence from their Reserves.”

“Ellian isn’t the same kind of Gifted you are,” Jandel said. “Take the Essence out of it.”

“ _How_?”

“It…I don’t know, but it’s like. Essence, but on top,” Jandel said. “The person I met with told me to tell you about it, but I don’t really, um. Understand it myself.”

Kaladin raised an eyebrow. “Who told you?”

“Um…”

“Would they happen to be in an incredibly conspicuous gray cloak and have a lot of freckles?”

Jandel blinked at him. “Sounds about right.”

“I figured,” Kaladin said. “Does this special Essence have a name?”

“Kan, if I remember right,” Jandel said. “I wasn’t entirely lucid, but they said it was usually described as… _dark_.”

 _The dark energy._ “Can I use it to slow down time?”

Jandel squinted at him. “What?”

“I said, can I use this Kan to slow down time?”

“I would imagine if you slowed down time, you used the Kan to do it, but I don’t know,” Jandel said. “Essence can’t do that, though.”

Kaladin nodded. “I think I know how to do what you’re talking about.”

He tried to reach out for the dark energy, but it slipped away. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and forced it into his mental fingers. And then he tried to use it, like a siphon, to take the Essence out of the water in the bucket.

The world seemed to slow. Kaladin suddenly knew that he’d done this entirely wrong. 

The water froze, and then exploded, shredding the wood bucket like paper. 

Kaladin yelped, and on instinct tried to shield his face and Jandel’s both. 

Essence seemed to materialize in the air, and the shards of flying wood immediately burned to ash. The water melted and sloshed harmlessly on the floor.

Jandel blinked in slow motion, seeming to turn as though through molasses towards Kaladin, and he realized that he was in his panic holding the kan away from him and slowing down time. He let go of his death-grip of the energy, and sound came rushing back over him,

“—just happened, boy? You could have hurt me! You could have hurt _Ellian_? What are we going to do about the water?”

Kaladin tried to not inch away from the irate older man. “Can you…repeat that?”

 _“What_?” 

“I said, can you repeat that? My panic response is to…slow down time, I guess, and…I can’t hear anything when I do that.”

Jandel blinked. “Guess that’s how the bucket just disappeared and soaked me through?”

Kaladin shrugged. “To be fair, it technically exploded.”

Jandel stared at him. “You exploded a bucket of water?” he finally asked. He sounded so tired.

“I was _trying_ to make it cold,” Kaladin said. “It turned into ice. And then exploded. I’m not sure what went wrong, but—”

Jandel put his dripping wet hands up very, very slowly. “You are _never, ever_ attempting that with me in the room, ever again.”

Kaladin shrugged. “Where did you get the water?”

“There’s a well outside— _what in fates are you planning_?”

“I need cold water,” Kaladin said, starting to walk towards the door. Jandel quickly stepped directly out into his path, blocking the exit. 

“ _No_ ,” said Jandel. “Just. Just use Essence.”

Kaladin grimaced. “I don’t want to _hurt_ Ellian!”

“You didn’t feel like that about me?” Jandel asked. “I have scars on my back now from where your Essence _burned_ me.”

“You’re an adult, he’s a _kid_ ,” Kaladin tried not to yell. It was a long day, and they were both frustrated.

Storms take him, he was going to yell. 

“I do what I _know how_ to do if I can do it,” he snapped. “I know how to treat a concussion without using Essence, and storms take me but if I hurt him because I tried to do it the way I don’t know how and it doesn’t work then it’s on _your_ head. Fates, Jandel, get out of my blustering way or so help me I will _make you move._ ”

Jandel looked at him for a second, and then stepped out of his way. “Don’t do it,” he said. “It’s going to hurt you.”

“I’m going to do it,” Kaladin said, “even if it hurts me, because _better me than him_.”

Jandel nodded slightly. “I’ll call you in if anything changes.”

Kaladin stormed out of the room, grabbing a clean, not-vaporized bucket from where it sat next to the pile of rags, and swept through the house and outside. 

“Where are you going with that?” the woman who ran the clinic barked, and he tried to tone down his glare of utmost fury before he turned to answer her. 

“To get ater,” he said. 

“Didn’t the other one just go in with water?”

“I need,” he said, “ _more_ water.”

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it. “The well is to the left and up the path,” she said. “Don’t break the fates-cursed rope, it’s halfway to rotten.”

Kaladin nodded. “Thank you,” and knocked the door open. 

He was going to do this, and he was going to do it right, and may El take anyone who tried to stand in his way.


	37. Catching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this title has a double meaning  
> because on one hand: conversations occur  
>  ... on the other hand: life has a way of catching up to you

Kaladin surveyed his work. 

Ellian’s fever was down; he looked less flushed, and more…restful. The cut on the back of his head had been healed with Essence, but other than that, there was little change.

Jandel glared at him from the corner, as he had been doing for the past two hours. By now, he was semi-dry, but he was still angry that Kaladin had healed him using Essence that he still had next to no idea how to control. 

Now, for the hard part.

Kaladin closed his eyes, reached into himself, and yanked out another twisting bolt of Essence from his Reserve. The line of energy twisted like a snake, the heat of it scorching Kaladin’s palms, but he prodded at it until it fell to pieces and settled like a slow-moving liquid. He poured the Essence into Ellian.

Nothing happened.

Jandel shifted slightly. “You’re doing the magic part now?” he asked dubiously.

Kaladin pushed a stray hair out of his face. “I’m doing my best.”

Jandel grunted. “Do it better.”

Kaladin tried to not roll his eyes. He was storming exhausted, and this wasn’t helping. “Lecture me all you want, but I don’t see you doing anything—”

“I fetched water for you, and you _exploded it_ on me!”

Kaladin shrugged. “I need you to be quiet,” he said, and tried his best to yank another line of Essence out of his Reserve. This time, the bristling energy held itself together and he almost had to burn the edges of his mind on the strand before he could manage to let it out, but once he did the Essence that poured out was significantly more than anything else Kaladin had handled before. _Fates. I don’t know if I can subdue this one._

He prodded at the coil of energy, and it seemed to snap at him. _Storms. Fates. This is something else_.

He brushed against the dark energy—the _Kan_ —and tried to use that as almost a barrier to use to protect himself as he stabbed at the Essence.

The Essence vanished. 

Jandel hissed a breath out through his teeth. “What in _fates_ did you just do?”

Kaladin turned to look at him. “I have _no_ idea,” he said.

“You have no idea? You just evaporated enough Essence to _kill_ a man!” Jandel yelped. 

Kaladin blinked.

Jandel stared back at him unflinchingly. 

“I really don’t know—” Kaladin started, and then Jandel cut him off. 

“Don’t. Do anything. You haven’t done before!” the man said, waving his arms wildly. “You can barely heal people, but you can do that, so stick to what you _know_! You’re the one panicking about _oh, what if I mess up and hurt Ellian_ , not that I can blame you, because I also don’t want you to hurt Ellian, but that’s _far more likely if you mess with things you don’t understand_!” He jabbed a finger into Kaladin’s chest. “You have no clue what you’re doing.”

“Don’t push me,” Kaladin said, knocking Jandel’s hand away.

“I’ll push whoever I damned well feel like!” Jandel spat, and pushed Kaladin backwards.

Kaladin erupted with Essence, throwing the other man back against a wall. He blinked at Kaladin, almost in shock, before starting to sit up.

 _Storms storms storms, I might have hurt him_ , Kaladin realized, running over and crouching down. “Jandel?”

“What in fates was _that_?” Jandel asked, slowly reaching up and gingerly touching a spot on the back of his head. The older man’s hand came away tinged red with blood. 

Kaladin bit his lip. “Hold on, I’ll try and heal whatever I just did—”

“You just _threw_ me into a wall is what you just did,” he said, but the heat to his words was gone. “What in fates was that, seriously?”

“Startle response, I guess,” Kaladin said. “It kind of just…happened. Did the same thing this morning. After I figured out how to access my Reserve, I started sort of throwing people whenever I got too, er…heated.”

Jandel nodded. “I understand, I suppose. I’d appreciate it if you’d handle this before you go back to trying to heal Ellian, though,” he said, and motioned at his head. 

“Can do,” said Kaladin, and he pulled out a thin strip of Essence from his barely-depleted Reserve and metaphysically crushed it into being useful. He tilted his hand and let the energy pour out onto Jandel. “Here.”

“Why do you do it like _that_?” Jandel asked.

“Do what?”

“The healing,” he said. “From what I’ve read, it should be—”

“You _can_ read!” Kaladin said. “Kor’ad owes me two silvers.”

Jandel glared at him. “You should be able to pull out the, um, for lack of a better word, _softer_ Essence by just reaching in and pulling. You keep taking a lot,” he explained, “and it doesn’t make _sense_.”

Kaladin looked down. “I told you I don’t know what I’m doing, right? Because I do _not_ have any sense of control over it. Everything I draw out, I do more by luck than anything else. I don’t know how to use it properly.”

Jandel raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And what?”

“And why, then, are you taking almost-unmanageable amounts of it out at once just to throw so much of it away?”

Kaladin looked at him. “I don’t know how to take out any less,” he said. 

Jandel closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stood up. “Do what you can for Ellian.”

“I will,” said Kaladin, and turned back to the child.

He had to do what he could do.

* * *

Kaladin was so tired. So, so storming tired. He felt like he couldn’t think. 

Someone was poking his face. They said his name. A child’s voice.

“Tien?” he croaked. 

No. Tien was dead. 

“I’m not dead,” the child said, sounding affronted. “Kaladin, get up.”

Tien _was_ dead.

“I’m not dead!” the kid said again, and poked him on his closed eyelid. Bright light flashed before him, as though someone was _holding his eye open_. What in fates…

“Ellian!” snapped someone else. 

And then it all came back to him. 

Kaladin opened his eyes and sat up and realized that he had been sprawled out face-first on the floor. He’d clearly fallen. Maybe he’d exhausted himself and collapsed while he was trying to heal Ellian? Storms, his head hurt. 

“What happened?” he mumbled.

“You fell,” Jandel said. His face swam in front of Kaladin’s vision. _Something is wrong with me_.

“Did I hit my head?”

Jandel said something, but Kaladin couldn’t make it out over the humming in his head. There was an idea budding in his mind…Stormlight heals, but he didn’t have Stormlight, he had the sharper version of it…

He flung his mental hands out at the pool of bright Essence, and instead overshot and knocked headlong into kan. He pushed it away, but he didn’t slow time, this time. Something was up, but he didn’t know what it was. 

He reached for Essence again, and found himself with a searing headache and a clear mind as he plunged himself into the energy and let it pour into him. Ellian yelped something, but between the rush of energy and the _noise in his head_ he had no idea what he could possibly have said. 

And then it was over, and he was fine.

“What in _fates_?” Ellian said. “You…how did you _do that_?”

Kaladin raised an eyebrow. “I…channeled the Essence into myself,” he said, trying to explain it. 

“But you were _healing_!” Ellian said. 

“I don’t know how else to do it?” Kaladin said.

“I told you he can’t use Essence properly,” Jandel muttered.

“I heard you, but we’re both up,” Ellian shot back. “I’m glad you’re okay, Kaladin.”

“Thanks,” Kaladin said.

“No problem,” Ellian said. “If I ask a question, will you answer it?”

Kaladin tried not to look too reluctant. “Depends on the question.”

“Who’s Tien?”

Kaladin blinked. 

“Ask me anything else,” he said.

“Why did you call _me_ Tien?” Ellian asked, a sly smile on his lips. He probably thought that was very clever, didn’t he.

Kaladin looked at the ground. Then back at the kid. And then to the ground again. “You can ask me anything about _anyone else_.”

“Who was Tien in relation to you?”

“ _Stop asking me about Tien!_ ” Kaladin yelled. Ellian reached out to grab his wrist. 

“I want to _know!_ ” Ellian said, and yanked at Kaladin’s arm. Jandel shouted in warning, but Kaladin felt like he was watching in slow motion as the wave of energy that he _couldn’t control_ erupted from his body and echoed out. Ice ran through his veins, and then—he reached for the darkness around him, reached out for Ellian, and the Essence evaporated as though it had never existed in the first place.

Ellian stared at him. “What did he just do?” the kid whispered to Jandel.

“I don’t know,” Jandel whispered back. “He does that when he gets mad, sometimes. I think it’s because the damn fool boy,” he raised his voice and shot a glare at Kaladin, “can’t use Essence worth a damn _or_ control his fates-cursed temper.”

Kaladin looked away. It was true.

“Look, son,” Jandel said, “it’s been a long day for all of us, but this is…unacceptable. Go. Go somewhere. Leave, and come back tomorrow, but I think you need to _go_.”

Kaladin nodded jerkily, and brushed his way out of the room and through the house to outside. 

He knocked open the door, and immediately realized that something was wrong. The old woman who lived here—she was outside. 

So were about twenty or so other people.

In the light of the moon, their faces looked like masks. 

In their hands, swords, spears, clubs. 

Kaladin very carefully took a step back and inside, but someone yelled, “Halt!”

He shut the door very quickly. 

“Have you _left_?” Jandel called.

“There’s a group of people outside, and they’re all armed,” Kaladin said. 

“ _What?_ ”

“My fault, probably,” Kaladin said, “but I’m pretty sure that having Essence is at least sort of illegal, so there should be a way out the back, and I’ll try to keep them distracted.”

Jandel grunted. “Make sure you do it better than you did healing us.”

“Thank you, Kaladin,” Ellian said. “Even if you are terrible at Essence.”

Kaladin nodded, remembered they couldn’t see him, and then said, “I’m going outside, so leave as soon as you can.”

He squared his shoulders and stepped out into the center of the group of angry people.

They stared at him for a moment. 

Kaladin tried _very, very hard_ to think of a way to handle this.

“Hi there,” he said weakly.

Someone took a step forward, and in the light from the windows of the clinic Kaladin could see the bright points reflecting from a badge. An officer of the law or something, he figured. “You’re under arrest under the authority of the Northwarden,” he said imperiously, his blue cloak fluttering behind him like a flag.

Kaladin glanced around surreptitiously. There was nothing he could think to use. His mind was blank. _Storms_.

“What if I don’t go?” he asked.

“That’s why I have them,” the man sneered, walking forwards towards Kaladin. This officer sounded like Roshone. The anger welled up inside him. _They will not touch me_.

The man grabbed Kaladin’s upper arm and yanked him towards the group of people.

Kaladin punched him. 

The man went down in one hit, blood spurting from his nose. Kaladin glared as the people started to shout, and someone ran at him. This wasn’t good, but it was _distracting._ And hopefully it would let Jandel and Ellian get away. 

He yanked out a bolt of Essence, realized it was far to large to use safely, and slammed it directly into the ground. The dirt crumpled around his arm and then erupted, showering him and the people in the mob with lukewarm dirt. It was showy. It was unpleasant. It was _perfect_.

Someone charged at him, and Kaladin spun them out of the way and into another person. Someone else came at him from another direction, and he elbowed them in the face and used them to catch the blow from someone _else’s_ heavy-handed attack with a club. But Kaladin didn’t want to be here in this crush of people, and they clearly didn’t know what they were doing, and _someone was going to get hurt and it wasn’t going to be him_ so he tried to force the kan away from himself to slow time again.

It didn’t work, and he frantically tried to get back into the flow of things, but he was too slow, and white-hot pain exploded into him as someone hit him from behind.

* * *

Kaladin rubbed his head, his face resting on something cold. Someone threw something hard at him, and he snapped awake in what looked like a cell in possibly the world’s dingiest cellar. He glanced down. Someone had hit him with a rock. 

This was like what had happened when he was a slave.

This was too much like what had happened when he was a slave.

 _I’m not a slave. I am not a slave. I will never again be a slave._

“Ribe and shine, _Bleeder_ ,” the person who had thrown the rock spat. They sounded like they were speaking through a broken nose. Kaladin glanced up, trying to keep the panic off of his face, and noted that it was the man from the mob who had seemed to be an officer of the law. A massive shiner spanned his face, and his nose was crooked. Kaladin would have been amused, if he wasn’t too busy losing his mind. 

“Where am I?” he gritted out.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Jail, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pen-and-sword:   
> I AM WAITING


	38. Property Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaladin enjoys the amenities of Administration's jail in Valern. The Administrators are enjoying this about as much as he is.

“We will now read you your charges and your rights,” the new man said, standing imperiously in front of Kaladin’s cell. He unlocked the door with a key, and it swung open with a loud clang. Kaladin tried not to wince. He had been _trying_ to go back to sleep.

“Who are you, again?” Kaladin asked, blinking up at the newcomer as he strode into the cell. He, too, wore a badge and a blue cloak. 

“I’m Administrator Sabrael,” the man said. “I’m going to be dealing with you.”

“You’re going to be _dealing_ with me?”

“Yes,” the man said with a sigh. “Unfortunately for me and my organization, our new leader is _insane_. ‘Suspected Augurs have rights,’ blah blah blah. I’ll be working closely with you, and try and figure out the truth.”

Kaladin looked at Sabrael. He didn’t seem particularly interested in the truth. “I will _not_ be a slave,” he bit out.

“That would be illegal,” Sabrael said, a smirk playing about his chapped lips. “Does this look like the Eastern Empire?”

Kaladin tried to look nonchalant and agreeable. “Right, right.” 

“What is your name?”

Kaladin considered. “Kaladin.”

“Kaladin _who_?” Sabrael asked insistently. 

“Kaladin?” Kaladin said. “That’s my name.”

“I _mean,_ what’s your family name. Don’t let your tongue get too clever on me, kid; I’ll make you regret it.”

“You wouldn’t be able to,” Kaladin glared. “Kaladin son of Lirin.”

“Sonovlirin?” the man asked, making Kaladin’s name sound slurred oddly. “Never heard a name like that. Where are you from?”

“Far away,” Kaladin said. 

The man tried to backhand him. Kaladin stepped neatly out of the way. “I would recommend you don’t try that again,” he said lightly.

“Tell me where you’re _really_ from,” Sabrael snarled. “You will respect me!” 

Kaladin shrugged. No harm in saying it, and if it would drive this man _furious_ … “Hearthstone, in Sadeas’s highprincedom.”

The man blinked. “What?”

“Little town called Hearthstone, in Highprince Sadeas’s highprincedom?”

“Where in the hell is that?” the man asked.

“Alethkar,” Kaladin said helpfully.

“Where’s _that_?” Sabrael asked. He looked fully baffled. Kaladin was really enjoying this, despite the situation. 

“Roshar, obviously,” he said, trying not to smirk too obviously.

“And Roshar is where?”

“I’m not sure, exactly,” Kaladin said. “I assume if you move very far very quickly you’ll get there one day.”

The man stared at him for a second.

“It’s another planet,” Kaladin continued.

Sabrael put a hand to his temple. “You el-cursed Bleeders are all the same,” he muttered. “No respect, and you all think you’re so damned clever, don’t you?”

“I know I’m cleverer than you are,” Kaladin said, and danced out of the way of the man’s next slap. “I would warn you not to do that again. I will defend myself next time,” he said. 

Sabrael sighed. “Let’s just get this over with. I have places to be, and more important things than interrogating a damn teenager,” he said. 

Kaladin shrugged. 

“Where did you get those scars on your face?” the man asked. 

“Lighteyes,” Kaladin said. 

“That isn’t even a word. But the scars,” the man said. “They look like brands, and they’re clearly symbols with meaning. Care to elaborate on what that means?”

“Rather not,” Kaladin said, 

Sabrael’s ice-blue eyes bored into Kaladin’s. “It wasn’t a request, kid. Start talking.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kaladin said, 

“ _Kid_ ,” Sabrael said. 

Kaladin took a step back. “I don’t feel the need to explain myself to you. Why am I here?”

“No,” Sabrael said. “You don’t get to change the subject like that. What are those brands on your face?”

Kaladin sighed. _Give me a story_ … “I was sold into slavery at eighteen. I made my own way out. Nothing you can throw at me will compare to that.”

The man’s entire demeanor changed, and his smile gained a hint of genuine sympathy rather than barely contained malice. “That is incredibly illegal.”

“Not where I came from,” Kaladin said, “and not when the people who did it are the ones who make the laws.”

Sabrael glanced down at his bared forearm. “You’re not even Gifted, are you?”

“I’m not even sure what Gifted _means_ ,” Kaladin lied.

“You were in the building with one,” Sabrael said. “A person, described as a young male with black hair. We assumed that was you. I apologize.”

Kaladin shrugged again. “I was the only young man in the building with black hair, so it couldn’t have meant anyone else.”

“Right,” said Sabrael, “but you _can’t_ be Gifted. You don’t have the Mark—”

“Wait, the tattoo? That’s a requirement?”

Sabrael looked at him. “Yes, it is.”

“Because I _can_ do magic,” Kaladin said, trying to fight off the nerves. _He won’t know about Ellian, he will_ not _know about Ellian, no one is finding out about Ellian, and they can try to do this to him over my dead body._

Sabrael raised an eyebrow. “You very clearly don’t have the Gift.”

“I can heal people,” Kaladin offered. “And I can break things.”

Sabrael’s brow furrowed, deepening the creases around his eyes. “But not people?” 

“I don’t need Essence to break people,” Kaladin said. 

“And most of us don’t need Essence to break things, either. But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Sabrael said. 

“What?”

“You’re here for property damage,” Sabrael said, as though this were obvious.

“I thought having the Gift would be a warrant for my arrest alone?” Kaladin said.

“You don’t have the Mark. You’re not Gifted,” Sabrael said. “Here. Look, I have the Administrator’s Mark,” he said, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a sore-looking brand in the shape of Ellian’s tattoo. “All Gifted get the Mark. It’s a…magic thing,” he said distastefully. 

“I thought there was an unmarked Gifted up in Desriel?” he asked.

Sabrael glanced aside for a minute. “We don’t talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“He’s _dangerous_ ,” Sabrael said. “You’re nothing like that, though. You’re not an amnesiac, for one thing, and you also aren’t nearly as strong as he was. And you don’t have the _sword._ ”

_Wait._

“Do you know what his name was?” Kaladin asked. “Was it…Tal-something?”

“I think so,” Sabrael said. “That was what some people were calling him. Sounded a lot like Talkanor to me, but that’s the Desriel god of balance.”

 _Tal’kamar was here_. “Thank you,” Kaladin said. “Yes, I know who you mean. I’m…looking for him.”

“So is, apparently, everyone else,” Sabrael said, and spat at the ground. “Fates curse her, there was the red-haired woman who attacked Ilin Ilan only a few months ago looking for him. She hurt a lot of people.” 

He was talking about Isiliar.

“She’s dead now,” Kaladin said softly. 

“She is?” Sabrael asked. “That’s wonderful.”

Kaladin tried to look less uncomfortable. “That it is,” he said, trying to sound not-incredibly-upset about that fact. 

“How do you know?” Sabrael asked. “If you don’t mind me saying, it doesn’t sound like something you would have seen…”

“I was there,” Kaladin said. “I ran bridges in an army. She died, and I saw her body.” All true, none related. 

Sabrael nodded eagerly. “Do you know who did it?”

“Fate,” said Kaladin. He was talking about Licanius. No need to reveal his goals to this man. “Their name meant Fate.”

“That’s incredible,” Sabrael said. “Thank you for telling me this.”

“Right,” said Kaladin. 

“Now,” Sabrael said, settling back into his interrogatory persona once more, “do you know what happened at the Bull’s Head?”

Kaladin glanced at him. 

“The building where one of the rooms exploded spontaneously, shattering the outer wall,” Sabrael clarified. “The room was booked under the name ‘Kory,’ but Kory had booked three rooms and claimed the one that had been destroyed had been yours.”

Kaladin nodded. “I don’t want to answer your questions,” he said. 

“You should do it anyway, kid,” Sabrael said. “This will be easier for both of us if you just comply with me.”

“Was the room that was destroyed yours?”

“I don’t know,” Kaladin lied. 

“It was, wasn’t it?” Sabrael insisted. 

“It might have been, if I had an actual room,” Kaladin said. “How do you know I did?”

“Your friend’s claims were corroborated by five other people,” Sabrael said. His left eye was twitching faintly. 

“Then they were clearly lying,” Kaladin lied. 

“They were most likely not,” Sabrael said. “And more of us, including my coworker and friend Administrator Torren, whose nose you broke, saw you fleeing the restaurant just afterwards. One woman claimed she saw you jump out of the wreckage itself.”

Kaladin nodded. “And they were all lying, clearly,” Kaladin said.

“Not three quarters of the damn east quarter of Valern is lying to me, kid,” Sabrael said.

“How do you know?” Kaladin said. “It might be a conspiracy. I’m on a very important mission, and so are my companions.”

“Are you really,” Sabrael said. 

“Yes,” Kaladin said. 

“Care to elaborate?” Sabrael asked. The twitch in his right eye was growing more and more pronounced as Kaladin continued. _Perfect._

“It’s secret,” Kaladin said. “But my objective is to rescue a group of children who are being abused by an incredibly powerful person.”

“And you, a runaway slave, got this mission…how?”

“It’s mostly self-appointed, to be fair,” Kaladin said, “and the other details are too sensitive to share with someone such as yourself.”

“Someone such as _myself_?” Sabrael sputtered. There was a vein pulsing in his forehead. 

“Someone such as yourself,” Kaladin repeated. “You’re not one of the initiated, unless.” 

Sabrael squinted. 

“Can you put out that lamp?” Kaladin asked, trying to make this work. “The light of a candle is bright.”

“Not really,” Sabrael said, “and I prefer the lamplight.”

“You’re not,” Kaladin said. 

“What?” Sabrael said, taking a step forwards. 

“You are exactly what I thought you were,” Kaladin said, “which is not one of us. I implore you to release me.”

“Under whose authority?”

“Under mine,” said Kaladin. 

“I refuse,” said Sabrael. “The authority of Administration outstrips yours.”

Kaladin arched an eyebrow, hoping it came off how he wanted it to. He was almost certain it did not. “That may not be true,” he said. “Your Northwarden answers to the throne?” 

“Yeeees,” Sabrael said suspiciously.

“Then I outrank him,” Kaladin said. 

“You do not,” Sabrael said. “You look nothing like the royal family.”

“If I told you I was forced to look like this by an evil Gifted without the Mark, would you listen to me?”

“An Augur?” Sabrael asked. “Do you mean an Augur?”

“I don’t know,” Kaladin said. “What’s an Augur?”

“It’s like a Gifted, but…more. They have another set of abilities.”

“Can they stop time?” Kaladin asked.

“Yes, I think so,” Sabrael said.

“Are they immortal?”

“Doubtlessly not,” Sabrael said, a strange light behind his eyes, as though his thoughts were far away all of a sudden. “Doubtlessly not.”

“Then it wasn’t an Augur, exactly, but someone with the abilities of one,” Kaladin said. “I’m secretly a prince.”

“You’re not the Northwarden,” Sabrael said. 

“The Northwarden isn’t the only prince of Andarra at the moment,” Kaladin said, and desperately hoped that that was actually true. 

“Yes, he is,” Sabrael said. _Storms_.

“I’m a prince _now_ ,” Kaladin said. “I was trapped in this shape by someone who wanted me to be out of their hair. I was a princess until that day a few years ago…”

“There has never been a princess of Andarra who has gone missing,” Sabrael said, appearing to fight down a smile.

“That’s because the Augur took away your memories of me,” Kaladin said. “Everyone in Andarra.”

“That’s not possible,” Sabrael said. 

“I’m telling you, it’s the truth,” Kaladin lied, “I really was a princess of Andarra.”

Sabrael laughed. “You’re not going to convince me, son,” he said. 

“I can try,” Kaladin insisted. 

“You really can’t,” Sabrael said. “Now, about that room…”

“It wasn’t me, I swear,” Kaladin said. 

“If I bring against you undeniable proof, would you still deny it?”

“Yes,” said Kaladin. “It’s your job to find proof that I can’t deny. I didn’t do it, end of story.”

Sabrael nodded. “That’s untrue. It’s your duty as a citizen of Andarra to cooperate fully with the officers of Administration,” he said.

“I’m technically not a citizen of Andarra,” Kaladin said.

“You just told me you were Andarran _royalty_ ,” Sabrael said. “Are you admitting that was a lie?”

“Yes,” said Kaladin. “Because I need to get out.”

“You have, with that confession, just called into question every word you have said during this interrogation,” Sabrael said. 

“I understand,” said Kaladin. 

“So every word you have said,” Sabrael continued, “was either false or true, and now it is clear that most of them were false.”

“I haven’t said either of that, let alone for every word,” Kaladin said.

“What?”

“It’s a joke,” Kaladin said. 

Sabrael grunted noncommittally. The twitch under his eye was at it again. 

“I am telling the truth when I say that the room wasn’t me,” Kaladin lied again.

Sabrael nodded. “That is most likely untrue,” he said. 

“It is factually true, though,” Kaladin said. _Technically, I’m not even lying. The room was destroyed by Essence. I didn’t go around with a club smashing things, after all_. 

“I do not believe you,” Sabrael said. “I want to help you, kid, but I—”

“Do you even know my name?” Kaladin asked. 

“What?” 

“You asked me for my name in th beginning of whatever this was,” Kaladin said, “but you haven’t used it since then. Do you even know it?”

Sabrael bit down whatever his first response was, and then did the same to the second. “Your name,” he finally said, “is Kaladin Sonovlirin, and that is almost without a single doubt a lie, as you later told me that you lived on an alien planet and are a shapeshifted princess of Andarra. So I will continue to not call you Kaladin, if you can pardon the indiscretion.”

“Right,” said Kaladin. “You can call me Cyr, if you need something other than ‘kid.’”

Sabrael gave him an unimpressed look. “What, like the Desrielite god of healing?”

“I’m a surgeon,” Kaladin said.

“And a slave, and a princess, and an alien, and a soldier,” Sabrael said.

“Hold on, I never said I was a soldier,” Kaladin protested. 

“You are,” Sabrael insisted. “There’s no mistaking that look.”

“I was a soldier before I was enslaved, that’s true,” Kaladin said. “But that doesn’t matter. I was a surgeon before that.”

“And you’re how old?”

“Twenty,” Kaladin said. 

“I believe you are lying to me,” Sabrael said, stepping up to Kaladin. “Tell me who you _really_ are.”

“No,” said Kaladin. And then, he hit him with an uppercut that laid the Administrator out in one blow. 

Kaladin bent down and rifled through the man’s pockets, and found a mixed bag of silver, copper and gold coins, and also the keys to the cell. He pocketed both of them. 

Then he took the man’s badge and cape, pulled his sleeves down over his forearms, and put both onto himself. He glanced at his clothing—it was filthy, and not fine enough to be Sabrael’s—and then quickly stripped him of his clothing and traded it for Kaladin’s own. It fit him poorly, but he made do. Then he strode out of the cell, locking the Administrator inside of it. 

He was free.


	39. Impersonation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaladin: I should pretend to be an Administrator to get out of jail!   
> Everyone else, reading this: that sounds like it might be a bad idea

Kaladin ran his fingers through his hair. He could do this. He just had to…walk through that door, through the room with the Administrators in it, and leave. 

That was the only way out.

Kaladin considered blowing a hole through the wall again. 

_I’m going to walk through that room, and then they are going to see just the cape and they will let me through,_ Kaladin reassured himself. _They will. And I can defend myself if I need to._

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and put the hood of the cape up over his face. He set his shoulders again. Took another breath. 

Stepped into the room with the clear appearance of someone with somewhere to be. 

“Hey, Aron, did the bleeder talk?” one of them—the one with the broken nose—called out. Kaladin ignored him, walking faster. _If he recognizes me_ …

“Aron?” another Administrator asked. “Did you find out what in fates happened to Daria’s tavern?”

Kaladin shook his head, trying to make his voice sound like the other man’s. “Got some leads to follow up on,” he said. 

“You alright, Aron?” the one with the broken nose asked. “Your voice sounds off.”

“Damn kid hit me in the throat,” Kaladin said. “This is time-sensitive. I have to go.”

“I’ll come with you,” a woman offered. 

“It’s not dangerous,” Kaladin insisted, “just time sensitive. I’m sure you have more important things to do?” _I hope she has more important things to do._

She laughed. “That I do, Aron. Good luck,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. 

She got close enough to see that his hair was the wrong color. Her eyes widened.

 _Storms, I just blew it, didn’t I_? Kaladin took off running just as she shouted in alarm. 

“Who are you?” she yelled, yanking his hood down. 

The one whose nose Kaladin had broken pointed. “That’s the one who broke my fates-cursed nose!” 

Kaladin kept running, but he couldn’t resist it. “You damn deserved it!” he shouted, and put the hood back up as fast as he could.

Someone grabbed the end of the fluttering cape and yanked, and Kaladin felt his feet slip out from underneath him. 

_I should be able to do this_ , Kaladin thought, and tried to slow time. 

This time, it worked, though it was immensely difficult to get a grip on the kan. He smashed to the ground and hit his head, but it wasn’t bad, and he stood up immediately afterwards. He carefully extended the bubble of time to the fingers on his cloak, without speeding up the rest of the Administrator, and peeled them off without destroying them. He didn’t want to seriously injure anyone. He took the cloak away, and then darted off into the opposite direction of the Bull’s Head tavern. 

Once he was around two blocks away, he let go of his time bubble, and listened to the Administrators panic. 

The kan wasn’t fleeing from his mind, he realized, and so he poked at it again. 

Nothing seemed to happen, and the dark energy trickled away from his fingers like water. 

Well, it was what it was. Kaladin got himself together, and then he took off—walking normally, if with a bit more of a swagger to his step, as he was still impersonating an Administrator—for the tavern. 

* * *

Jandel was waiting in the bar with Kor’ad. Kaladin tried not to be amused. Both of them looked drunk as all hell. 

Kaladin opened the door to the tavern and strode in, heading for his friends. 

Jandel dropped his shot glass.

It shattered on the floor, loudly. All noise in the bar stopped. 

Jandel stumbled to his feet, listing to the left as though he were a sinking ship, and took a few steps towards the stairs—he was trying to leave. 

Kaladin walked to him, _quickly_ , because Jandel looked like he was about to fall over. He grabbed Jandel’s arm, steadying him, and then let go. “Need any help?”

Jandel tried to push Kaladin away, but almost fell, and Kaladin kept him from toppling over by grabbing him by the shoulders. “Jandel. It’s me.”

“Wha?” 

Kaladin closed his eyes. Tried to push a tiny, tiny bit of Essence into Jandel. He wasn’t sure if he’d done what he _meant to_ , exactly, but Jandel’s eyes cleared of the alcohol’s haze, so he figured it might have worked. 

Jandel punched him in the face. 

Kaladin turned with the blow, putting a hand to his mouth. “ _Jandel, it’s me!”_ Kaladin hissed. 

Jandel, foot drawn back to kick him, stopped suddenly. “ _Kaladin_?” 

Kaladin nodded. 

“You look like an Administrator,” Jandel hissed. 

“I had to break out, and it seemed a good way to do it,” Kaladin explained. 

Jandel nodded. “I have to make it look like this was a drunk fight,” he said, and kicked Kaladin in the ribs anyway. Kaladin tried not to yelp. 

He rolled up, and very carefully pretended to hit Jandel. Jandel took the hint, and sprawled out on the ground.

Kaladin turned to the bartender, who—like every other person in the bar—was watching the exchange with unmitigated fascination. “Where is this man’s room?” he demanded. 

“Upstairs,” the bartender said. “Room 2-10.”

“Thank you,” Kaladin said, and picked Jandel up bodily. 

Kor’ad stumbled away from the bar. “Hey…where r’ya goin with…with…with m’friend?”

Kaladin really hoped Kor’ad didn’t try to hit him. “To take him to his rooms. He’s clearly drunk.”

“Y’r not goin’a do that,” Kor’ad said, downing his shot and slamming the glass on the bar.

“Why not?” Kaladin said. 

“Said so,” Kor’ad said. 

“Are these two together?” Kaladin asked the bartender. 

“Yep,” the bartender said. 

“You can come with me,” Kaladin offered to Kor’ad. 

Kor’ad made a noise and walked towards him, then stumbled and fell down directly on top of Kaladin. He absolutely reeked of cheap alcohol. 

“Kor’ad!” Kaladin hissed. 

“Kaladin!” Kor’ad hissed back. “You’re a bluecloak now?”

“Stole some clothes,” Kaladin said, and tried to sober him up with Essence, same as he had for Jandel, while he pushed the man off of him. 

Some of the blisters on his face tightened into faint scars. _Fates. That might get noticed._

Kaladin stood, steadying Jandel, and then tried to offer Kor’ad a hand up. 

Kor’ad leaned on Kaladin, and the three of them made it to the stairs. Into the closed staircase. 

“Get off me,” Kaladin said, and both of them did. 

“What in fates did you do?” Kor’ad asked, poking at his face. “My face doesn’t hurt any more, and I’m… _sober_.”

“Magic healing is also magic sobering,” Kaladin said. “A friend of mine did that at one point, and it seemed like a handy trick.”

“Handy indeed,” Jandel said. “Let’s get back to the room. I suppose you’ve cooled down by now?”

“I haven’t thrown anyone into a wall lately,” Kaladin said, “but the place they were keeping me had something that evaporated any Essence, so I’m not sure how that’s going to hold up. But I think I have a better handle on it, now.”

“Right,” said Jandel. 

“And I think…do you know the tattoo on Ellian’s arm? I think I’m supposed to have one of those, too.”

“Why?”

“Magic.”

“Right, right,” Jandel said. “That’s quite an explanation.”

“Excuse me for not asking about this country while I tried to convince my interrogator that he needed to let me go,” Kaladin snapped. “Look, it’s been a rough week for me. Do you still need to deliver something to someone, or have you found them?”

“I know where they will be,” Jandel said. 

“Great,” said Kaladin. “So we can leave?”

“We can,” Jandel confirmed. 

“Lovely. Let’s go get Ellian,” Kaladin said. 

“He’s in the room next to the one that was yours,” Jandel said. “I’m going to get Kor’ad’s and my stuff.”

“Perfect,” said Kaladin, and they ascended the stairs and split up. 

* * *

Kaladin knocked on Ellian’s door. 

“Come in,” the kid said, and so Kaladin opened it.

Ellian looked at him for exactly one second.

The kid scrambled back, raising his hands. “Don’t come any fates-cursed closer,” he spat. 

Kaladin put his hands in the air. “I won’t, but we need to leave,” he said. 

“I’m not going _anywhere_ with you,” Ellian said, picking up his sword and summoning a bolt of Essence with the other hand. “Don’t take another step, Administrator.”

_Oh._

Kaladin took the hood down. “I’m in disguise,” he said, and put it back up.

Ellian blinked at him for a second, as though he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. “ _Kaladin_?”

“The one and only,” Kaladin agreed. “We’re packing up and leaving. Get your stuff?”

“Wait,” Ellian said. “Kaladin.”

Kaladin stopped, hand on the doorknob. “What?”

“I…I need to tell you something. But. In private,” Ellian said. 

Kaladin let his hand fall back to his side. “Alright,” he said.

“Can you…come sit down?” Ellian asked. His voice shook slightly. 

Kaladin nodded, and sat down on the bed next to Ellian. “Is something wrong?”

Ellian shook his head frantically. “No, I’m just, uh, a little nervous,” he said, and laughed a little bit. “I,” he stopped and looked at Kaladin. 

“You…” Kaladin prompted.

“I’m not a boy,” Ellian choked out quickly, closed his—her? Their—eyes and looked away.

Kaladin nodded. “Right,” he said. “What are you, then?”

Ellian looked up at him, eyes unusually bright. “It’s complicated,” the kid said. _The kid. That works_. 

“Um,” said Kaladin. “Are there—is there—what would you rather I say than ‘he’?” Kaladin settled on lamely. 

Ellian blinked. “He is fine right now,” Ellian said. 

Kaladin nodded. “Alright, but I… don’t really understand,” he said. “Can you explain?” _That sounds harsh. Fates, he looks so nervous._

“I’m…I’m what you call genderfluid,” Ellian explained. “I. Um. Sometimes I’m a different gender.”

“So you go from using he to using she?” Kaladin asked. 

“Um…yeah. Pretty much,” Ellian said.

“I’ve never heard of that,” Kaladin said, and Ellian’s face fell, so he continued quickly, “but I mean, I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you, Kaladin,” Ellian said, and hugged him. Kaladin didn’t expect it, and it knocked him directly off the edge of the bed. “Fates, sorry!” 

“No problem, kiddo,” Kaladin said, rubbing his head. “You need to get your stuff packed. Do you, uh, want me to tell Jandel and Kor’ad? About the genderfluid thing?”

Ellian looked at him, as though to make sure he was serious, and then at the door, and then back to Kaladin. “I’d rather you not,” he mumbled. 

“Alright,” Kaladin said. 

“Thank you, so much,” Ellian said. “I’m packing my bag. Thank you.” He looked away, and Kaladin pretended to not notice that he was teary-eyed. Hey, if the kid wanted to save face, who was Kaladin to take that away from him?

“I’m going to try and get my things together,” Kaladin said. “I’ll see you later, Ellian.”

Ellian nodded. “Good luck, Kaladin. The room was…I think calling it a mess is understating it,” he said, and a laugh that sounded just a touch desperate clawed its way out of the kid’s mouth. Kaladin couldn’t blame him, exactly. 

He pushed the door open and stepped across the hall to where the ruins of the room he’d been sleeping in were. 

The room was almost indiscernible from the other rooms in the hall from where he stood, but when he opened the door the acrid smell of burned fabric immediately accosted him. The wall had collapsed outwards, but his things were strewn throughout the room, and most of it was faintly charred.

Kaladin started to poke through the damaged things, but his mind was elsewhere. 

Ellian telling him about the genderfluid thing was clearly a big deal for the kid, Kaladin knew. And he didn’t want to hurt Ellian. But it…it didn’t really make sense to Kaladin. 

Then again, most of this world didn’t make sense to Kaladin. Women were soldiers. Men could read. People told the future, and it came true. There weren’t any Heralds, there weren’t any highstorms, there was no Vorin church. People could live forever. 

No, he would do what Ellian asked. He wouldn’t question it. Ellian could be who Ellian was, and that wasn’t up to Kaladin to decide, so the best he could do was just respect what Ellian wanted Kaladin to do for him, and that wasn’t exactly difficult, Kaladin knew. It was just…unusual. Not what he was used to. 

That wasn’t true, actually. 

It wasn’t what he was used to from normal people. People who weren’t, well. Venerate.

And storms take him, but he didn’t want Ellian to be one of them. He wanted better for the kid.

Because…because… _storms_. 

_Because I think of Ellian as a younger sibling, and I want to protect him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you know how long i have been waiting to write Ellian coming out  
> it has been   
> since like the second chapter they showed up in


	40. Thane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing: Thane, the baddest adventurer to ever exist ever, who may or may not have actually strangled a dar'gaithn to death once

The forest outside of Valern smelled of charred wood. 

Kaladin tried to forget that it was _him_ that had vaporized what might have been almost a full half mile of forest by accident. By the glances Jandel was directing at him, he thought that the other man may have figured the cause of it out, but if anyone was going to ask, it wasn’t going to be Kaladin. 

He was still wearing the blue Administrator’s cloak, and the Administrator’s clothing, though he had removed and thrown away the badge the second they left Valern’s outskirts. Ellian’s threadbare blanket that he’d been using as a cloak had been burned in the wreckage of the room in the Bull’s Head, and so Kaladin had given the kid his red coat instead. Jandel had the gloves that Kaladin had stolen from the Administrator, though, and Warren was wearing the boots, which had been a bit too small for Kaladin. 

“Where are we headed?” Kaladin asked Jandel. 

“Not sure,” Jandel said, “but we’ll know it when we get there, and we have to get there in the next four or five days.”

“Do you, by any chance, know when we _should_ get there?”

“Nope,” said Jandel, “but you can do the thing where you, you know, slow down time. So we should be able to travel really, really fast without much extra effort, right?”

“Not unless I’m panicking,” Kaladin said. “I can’t normally do it.”

“Maybe you should practice,” Jandel said. 

“Last time I practiced, I exploded a bucket of water all over you,” Kaladin said. Jandel glared at him. 

“That just means you should practice more,” he said. 

Kaladin looked him dead in the eye. “It’s dangerous,” he said. “I don’t know how it works, and it is _not safe_. I broke my spear trying to do it—I wouldn’t even have moved the two of you if I didn’t think it was necessary, and I might have actually _broken_ your _spine_ by yanking you too hard. It’s a _bad idea_ ,” Kaladin insisted. “Warren, you tell him. You saw the spear melt, right?”

Warren jumped. “What are you asking me?”

“The spear, when I fought the soldiers. You saw it vaporize, right?”

“Yeah,” the Shadow said. “That was _weird_.”

Kaladin nodded. “I could have done that to one of _us_ , Jandel,” Kaladin said. “I might still. It’s not safe for anyone to travel like that with me, at least not until I can get someone to teach me how to do it properly.”

“What if there isn’t anyone, though?” Jandel asked. “You’re going to have to practice sometime.”

“I don’t want to hurt any of you, though!” Kaladin said, trying not to raise his voice. “You’re not _listening_ to me, Jandel. You don’t ever _listen_ to me the way you listen to Kor’ad.”

“Kor’ad is a lot older than you are—”

“But that doesn’t mean that he knows better than I do on the subject of my own limits,” Kaladin gritted out, “and that goes the same for you.”

Jandel leaned in. “You’re not the only one with magic and stuff in this group, though,” he started.

“I’m _not_ asking Ellian for help with this. Of all the people. It’s not _safe_ for them.”

“That’s not what I meant, exactly,” Jandel said. “I have these…Vessels. They’re supposed to protect people like me from people like you.”

Kaladin looked towards the other three. “Are you sure you want to talk about that?”

“If it makes you practice, then _yes_ , I really _do.”_

“That’s a _bad idea_ ,” Kaladin said again, “but I see what you mean. If I accidentally rip your fingers off, it’s on your head.”

_Storms, I really hope I don’t do that. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I want to hurt Warren or Kor’ad._

“Give me one second,” Jandel said, and started to poke through the pockets of his long green traveling coat. He withdrew two delicate-looking bracelets and slipped them on his right arm. “Right, lets do this.”

Kaladin tried to find the dark energy with his mind, and it took him longer than he would have liked to even register the feeling of the kan rubbing up against his mind. He reached out, trying to get a hold on it. It slipped away from him like slick ice melting in his hand. He forced it away from himself into a bubble of slowed-down time, and then expanded it to contain Jor’ad. 

“Whoa,” Jandel said. “You got… _blurry_ for a second.”

“You’re probably blurry right now, to everyone else,” Kaladin said. “Here. Look. Try not to touch anything, until I’ve gotten through explaining what I can figure out about this thing happening,” he said. He walked over to one of the slender oak saplings, but didn’t bring the bubble out to touch it. 

He flicked it, and it—in slow motion—exploded away from his hand as though Kaladin had hit it with a club. Jandel gasped. 

“That’s why you can’t touch anyone,” Kaladin said. “But it’s not just that.”

He bent down and picked up a rock, holding it in the bubble. “I can do this, because I slowed the time around the rock down, right?” he said to Jandel. “But if you do it…try it.”

Jandel shrugged, and bent to pick up a pebble off the ground. 

“ _Fates_ , Kaladin, did this just turn to sand in my fingers?”

“Yeah,” Kaladin said. “From what I can remember and what happened, I think it breaks something inside the rock itself. It did that to a lot of things. I can do that to people, too.”

Jandel nodded. “Right, right. And I suddenly feel a lot less secure about letting you bring us all to this next place in less than a day,” he said. 

“I’m going to put us back in time,” Kaladin said, and dropped his hold on kan. At this point, the transition from slow-time to real-time was jarring but not totally disorienting for him. Jandel nearly fell over. 

“Fates, that was amazing,” Jandel said. “And terrifying.”

“That it is,” Kaladin said.

They kept walking.

* * *

The town rose amongst the trees almost as though it were growing out of the ground itself, paths winding up out of the undergrowth and scattering about, houses strewn as though they had sprung up from a collection of wood that had been dropped like seeds from far above. 

They kept moving, but it was late already, and the inviting golden glow of firelight through the trees was making Kaladin wish for them to stop. 

“Should it be further?” Ellian groaned, dramatically slumping over onto Jandel. “It’s been _so much walking…”_

“We’re almost right here,” Jandel said. 

Ellian stood up straight, looking significantly brighter. “Great!”

“Smooth act, Slick,” Warren said, and then seemed to bite his tongue. “I mean, um. Ellian.”

“It sure was, Dustfingers,” Ellian said, a grin splitting his face. 

“Slick?” asked Kor’ad, and Ellian’s expression immediately dropped. 

“Don’t,” Ellian said. “Don’t ask.”

Kor’ad opened his mouth, but both Kaladin and Warren cut him off. “He said stop.”

The Shadow looked at Kaladin strangely. “That’s right,” he added. “Kaladin agrees with me.”

“That’s fine,” Kor’ad said. “I was just going to say it was a far better nickname than Blister.”

Jandel made a noise that couldn’t even be described as a grunt behind them. It was high-pitched, almost like the sound of someone being… _strangled_ …

Kaladin whirled, as did pretty much all of the rest of them. Jandel was being held at knifepoint by a masked person in some sort of enormous, fringed shifting clothing in some color that he could hardly pick out from the rest of the forest itself. All Kaladin could reliably focus on was their eyes. 

Which were narrowed into what Kaladin thought looked like a glare. That was great news. _He better not stab Jandel._

“ _Thane_?” Ellian gasped.

Jandel dropped his bag. “ _You’re_ Thane?”

Thane made a noise of frustration and stomped a foot on the ground. Behind the threads making them fade into the trees like a ghost, he could see the sole of a six or seven inch stilleto heel light up with a flash of Essence that changed and shifted like a living, twisting rainbow. Thane did the same to the other foot, and it was blindingly bright, shifting rainbow colors.

And then twin trails of rainbow light streaked through the air, as though they had taken off in a massive leap in the space of a blink, and left nothing but the suspended light itself in their wake. 

And both she and Jandel were gone. 


	41. The Guardian of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally, some answers

“I know her!” Ellian declared. “That’s Thane! She wears the Boots!” 

Kaladin blinked. The light trails were fading, but not nearly as fast as he would have expected. They were clearly actually lingering there. “You know her?”

“Fates, yes!” Ellian said. “She’s an _Augur_!”

“I’m pretty sure I’m an Augur,” Kaladin said. 

“I know _that_ ,” Ellian declared. “You gotta ask her how to do the thing where she melts trees. She’s good at that.”

“I can melt trees,” Kaladin said.

“No you can’t,” Ellian said. “You light them on fire, or evaporate them, sometimes. She makes them _melt_. Or turn into dust. Or explode. It’s all very cool.”

Warren muttered, “Slick,” and Ellian promptly stopped speaking. He turned a betrayed glare on the Shadow. “We agreed we weren’t going to talk about that.”

“She’s _back_ , isn’t she?” Warren asked. “Might as well get it over with.”

Ellian started to say something, stopped, started again, and then eventually just said, “I broke my promise.”

“That was _not_ your fault, Ellian,” Warren said. “Of all the reasons she would hate you. Fates, you sound like _Ant_.”

Kaladin expected a lot of things, but not for Ellian to point at Warren and say, “Kaladin, punch him.”

“What?”

Ellian made a noise of pure frustration, and then, almost faster than Kaladin could track, kicked the man in between his legs. Warren squeaked. 

“You don’t get to talk about Ant, _ever_ ,” Ellian gritted out, and Kaladin could see the angry killer from the alleyway rising in his eyes. _This is almost definitely going to go very badly if I don’t do something_. He stepped forwards and tapped Ellian on the shoulder. 

“Take a deep breath, Ellian,” he said, very carefully putting himself in between Ellian and the Shadow. 

“I’m breathing fine already,” Ellian glared at him. 

“You’re angry,” he said. “You need to relax.”

“I don’t _want to._ ”

Kaladin thought of how best to put this. “It’s not…helpful to be angry like that,” he said. “Not at your friends. Not the people who you want to protect.”

Ellian locked eyes with him. “You don’t have the right to tell me what to do or who I want to protect. You’re not my family or anything.”

 _That hurt_. 

Kaladin tried not to let the almost physical pain of that last sentence show on his face. “That doesn’t mean that you don’t want to protect us,” he said. 

Ellian held the glare for a moment longer, and then looked down, the angry energy draining from his face like water from a cloth. “You’re right.”

“You’re not going to do anything to Warren?”

“Not any more.”

“Good,” said Kaladin, and whirled on the Shadow. “You knew Ellian was going to react like that. You wouldn’t have said that like _that_ if you didn’t.”

Warren looked at Kaladin, and then back to Ellian. 

“Um,” he said.

“Um,” repeated Kaladin. “Um what?”

Warren scowled. “You don’t know either of us.”

Kaladin glared back. “You two just nearly had it out in the middle of a damned forest. I must admit, I don’t know why me getting in the middle is such a contentious point for _you_.”

Ellian made a noise.

“What?”

“Tell him not to talk about Ant,” Ellian said. 

“I can talk about Ant however much I want, they were my friend too,” Warren said. “Where in fates is Kor’ad?”

Kaladin turned around, taking his eyes and his focus off of the two younger traveling companions. Kor’ad wasn’t in sight, and as he stepped towards where he’d last seen his friend he noticed another thing… two more of those damnable light trails streaking through the air. Kor’ad was _gone_. 

Warren squeaked. 

Kaladin turned back just in time to see Ellian scramble away from a pained-looking Warren. “He _punched_ me!”

Kaladin tried not to sigh. “I’m not your dad. Work it out, somehow. And Ellian, you should stop hitting people.”

“I’ll hit whoever I damn well want!” 

Kaladin scanned the dark forest and looked away from the kids for one moment. “We have bigger problems than whoever this Ant person is,” he said. “You said you knew who—”

Someone jabbed something sharp into his ribs from where Kaladin couldn’t even see them. “Don’t move,” a deep, feminine voice hissed, and then suddenly they were…somewhere else. A campsite. It looked deserted.

She dropped the knife. _“You’re_ the Venerate, then?”

Kaladin blinked. 

“That’s a yes or no question,” she said, stepping away. “I’m Denna. Thane.”

“I’m…Kaladin,” Kaladin said.

She sighed, and reached up to do _something_ to him. The dark energy coalesced around her hand. Even without being able to see it, for it was invisible, he could sense that she was trying to swat at him with kan. Almost on instinct, he yanked it away from her hand. 

“So you are,” Thane said. 

“Are what?” 

“Cyr.”

“Not…properly,” Kaladin said. “I’m missing a lot of my memories.”

“Fates,” said Thane. “You too? Was it the Waters of Renewal, or did you do something else instead?”

“ _What_?”

“Guess you don’t know, then,” she sniffed. “I’ll be traveling with you and your party for a while. You clearly need no help, but another hand can’t be—”

“I don’t know how to use Kan or Essence properly,” Kaladin blurted. “Ellian said you melt trees?”

She glanced at him. “No. I make the tree dissolve.”

“You make trees…dissolve.”

“It’s just a simple application of Kan and Essence,” she said, and then something else about something called molecular theory, and bonds and tiny particles that make up larger particles that make up trees, and Kaladin found himself entirely lost. 

“…and this is only possible because water is a polar molecule and can have a charge,” she finished. 

“I see,” Kaladin said. He saw nothing. 

“Well,” she said sharply. “What can _you_ do?”

“I can slow down time, sometimes,” he said, “and I can break things with Essence, and I can sort of heal people but not with any real consistency and it takes a lot of Essence that Jandel tells me is mostly wasted.”

“ _Wasted_?”

“I don’t know how to control it,” he continued. “I pull out too much, and it burns things.”

“Right,” said Thane, “I can cure you of that habit, at least. You’d best be prepared for a lot of work, but we’ll make a proper Venerate of you yet.”

He shrugged. 

“Fates,” she muttered. “To find the foremost chronicler of techniques of Kan and Essence, only to find out he doesn’t know how to use it… You were the one who made my shoes, you know that?”

Kaladin looked at her shoes. They seemed to linger where they stood longer than they should, almost like they were moving through the past. Unbidden, the memory of a sword that had cut the opposite way leapt into his mind. Cyr knew how to do things like that, once, but the memories were obscured. The one who he could not remember was too closely intertwined with them. With everything. “That seems like something I would have done. With Andrael, maybe.”

“Can you figure out what they do?”

“I can’t remember,” Kaladin said.

“They’re known as a type of seven-league boots, but they don’t actually take me that far in one step. They are a sort of movement dilation tool.”

“Let me guess,” Kaladin said. “You can walk very far very fast.”

“Jump, to be precise.”

“That’s cool.” _Storms, the shifting light in her shoes was going to give him a migraine._ “So, you know Ellian?”

“What, Slick? Yeah.”

 _He didn’t want to be called that_. Suddenly Kaladin felt even less charitable towards this Thane. “How?”

“Whoa, whoa,” she said. “Chill out. He’s an old friend from the Tol.”

“Where he ran away,” Kaladin said, “and I can’t decide if I think you were involved in that or not.”

She caught his drift and shrugged. “I was, but I doubt you’re going to guess how. I stabbed an Administrator for him.”

“You stabbed an…what, like the people I took the cape from?”

“Yes,” she said with a grimace. “Until I saw Ellian and placed the description of you six, I was planning on killing you.”

“I would imagine you’re not a huge fan of their organization, then?”

“I’m an Augur,” she said, as though that explained it.

“I don’t understand,” Kaladin said. “I don’t…storms, I don’t know _anything_ about them. Except that they’re bad news.”

“That they are,” she said. “They kill Augurs. Or, at least, they used to. For close to twenty years, they systematically eradicated us from this country.”

_That’s horrific._

“And that’s not all,” she continued. “Things changed with the new Northwarden and the Tenets, but for a long time, the Administrators had something called a Fourth Tenet, which they could use to make anyone with the Mark do, well, whatever they said. It was like slavery. And if an Administrator decided to do _anything_ to one of us, we couldn’t do anything. The old Northwarden,” she spat to the side, “may he be tortured in the Darklands for all eternity, built Administration from the ground up, and the bastard hated anyone with the Gift. He and his brother and their damnable army _massacred_ the old Augurs. And now his son sits on his throne of bones, claiming to be an ally of both the Gifted and the current Andarran political system.”

“You hate him.”

“I have right cause to, I should think,” she said. “His hag mother died at the hands of the Swarm, and I must say I went out and had a right good time the night I heard the news. Drinks, cakes, everything. May they all rot.”

 _I can think of a few people I would love to see dead_ , Kaladin thought, _but I doubt I’d go out carousing if they did_.

“That’s Administration,” she finished. “I’m sure you can see why I would have wanted to take a few of them off the face of this damned country.”

“I can’t blame you,” Kaladin said. 

“Plenty of people do.”

“They’re _wrong_ ,” Kaladin said. “The Administration sounds awful. Horrific. Someone should _do_ something about it.”

“That’s Athian’s job,” she said offhandedly, “but old Taeris doesn’t seem to be doing it very quickly.”

“Who?”

“Someone important, with an important job, who won’t storming _do_ it,” she said. “An old friend who I haven’t spoken to in years. I thought he was dead until the Truthguards told me otherwise.”

“Right,” said Kaladin. “So. Are you going to take me back?”

“No!” she said, and then paused. “I mean, not yet.”

“Why not? I would prefer to go back. To my friends. Who I know and trust.”

“This needs to be kept quiet, Cyr,” she said. 

_How many times was he going to have to go through this?_ “It’s Kaladin, actually. Especially this side of the Boundary.”

“Right now, it isn’t,” she said. “I need to ask you how these Vessels work.”

She held up Jandel’s delicate bracelets. 

“I have no idea,” Kaladin said.

“Well, can you figure it out?”

“I… _probably not._ I don’t know how any of this stuff even _works_.”

“Take your time, we have plenty,” she said. 

“I’d rather not,” Kaladin said. 

“You’re at a disadvantage,” Thane said, and Kaladin couldn’t see her smile but he could hear it in the tone of her words. “Who are you to be saying no?”

“Are you _threatening_ me?”

She paused. “I’m trying to be friendly,” she said eventually.

“It’s not working so well,” Kaladin retorted. 

“Let’s do this again,” she said, aiming for a jovial tone. She needed better aim. “My name is Denarida, but people call me Denna or Thane. You’re technically my boss, although it looks like I know more than you do at this point. We’re both Truthguards. And you, Cyr, Kaladin, whoever you want to be, you’re more important than you realize.”

Kaladin raised an eyebrow. “Truth…guards?”

“An old order of librarians, adventurers, archaeologists, spies. People who make the world change, and people who know why it works and how it does things. We’re the _guardians_ of the knowledge of generations upon generations. And you…you were our founder.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, do you know how glad i am that i finally know what the Hell the Truthguards are?


	42. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one has the fortune they expect to.

Kaladin got to enjoy the dubious pleasure of Thane’s company for almost the entire night, sitting by the campfire being regaled with stories about the evils of Administration, the evils of the Gifted, the evils of the regular Andarrans…Kaladin got the impression she had a bone to pick with just about everyone he had ever laid eyes on while he had been on this storming planet.

Finally, the sun started to break over the horizon, and Kaladin was able to get a good look at her. 

Even in the weak daylight, the gray-green-brown- _whatever-_ colored fringed thing she was wearing made her seem to vanish from his sight; but now he could see that it was a massive, incredibly swishy looking cloak with a hood, and the mask he had thought that she was wearing was the combination of a dark gray hat and a cloth tied over her nose. Wisps of curly blond hair, like someone from Iri, escaped her hat, but Kaladin thought she looked darker than he was. The glow of the fire made her eyes look like they were made of liquid gold, and as the sun rose higher he came to realize that this was because they were a peculiar shade of light amber. 

“Can we go back now?” Kaladin asked for what had to have been more than the twentieth time.

“No.”

“I don’t want them to worry—”

“Did you know that there was an Administrator in Ilin Ilan who…”

Kaladin tried not to sigh. _And here we go again._ “Thane, I don’t appreciate being kidnapped.”

“Wow, I hadn’t realized I asked for your opinion,” she said brightly. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Storms above, this was infuriating. “Can you _please_ tell me how to get back,” Kaladin asked again. 

“Nope. So this Administrator’s name was Ionis, right?”

“You _told me this story already_ ,” Kaladin gritted out. “Ellian was about to _murder_ Warren when you stole me—”

“ _Warren Dustfingers is alive_?”

* * *

Ellian registered the light trails shimmering brighter than the sunlight before she even saw her. “Thane?”

“Slick,” she said, materializing. She dragged Kaladin with her, and his landing was far from the graceful touch-down that she had perfected. Ellian remembered when she herself had tried that, once, and didn’t envy Kal his scraped knees one bit. “Your friend is boring.”

Kaladin scowled at her. “You _kidnapped me_.”

“Water under the bridge,” she said. “So, Slick. How went the pickpocketing?”

Ellian shrugged. “It went.”

“And Warren Dustyfingers! Fates, boy, I thought you kicked it.”

“Guess not,” Warren said through his bloody nose. He hadn’t moved from where Ellian put him. 

Ellian was still mad about that. How _dare_ he. She forced it down, took a deep breath. Kaladin was back. Kaladin would be mad if she tried to kick the fates-cursed Shadow bastard in the face for what he did, but he would _deserve it._

But no. 

_He’s not Red. I need to remember that._

“So, you two, I want your stories,” Thane said, raising an eyebrow. “How’d you manage after the Festival of Crows?”

“We managed,” Ellian muttered.

“Ant is dead,” Warren said blandly. _How dare he how dare he how dare he—_

“Better him than all of you,” Thane said, and Ellian had to grit her teeth against the wave of burning fury it brought back. 

“Red is dead, too,” Warren said, and Ellian started. She didn’t know that Warren knew about that.

“Red is _dead_?”

“Red’s been dead for almost a month,” Warren said. “Something went down at the Tol, some problem with one of the new Augurs.”

_That’s not what happened._

Kaladin was following this exchange with the most incredibly bemused expression Ellian had ever seen on anyone outside a classroom, but suddenly he seemed to understand what was going on. “Was that the one with Control?” he asked. 

“Probably,” Thane agreed. 

“You said that Darkness killed him,” Kaladin said.

“I was told,” Thane said, “but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s the truth.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

Thane shrugged. “Spies lie. It’s a fact of our existence.”

“You told me you were _librarians_!”

“They’re also spies,” Ellian added. 

“Yeah,” said Warren. “Unfortunately.”

Kaladin looked like he needed a nice, tall glass of ale. “So two of your friends are dead, it looks like Warren’s face is worse, I have no idea what’s going on, and Jandel and Kor’ad are still storms know where off doing storms know what—”

 _What_?

“And I,” Kaladin continued, as though he didn’t just say something totally strange, again, just like he always does, “I have spent the entire night being regaled with tales of Administrators, kidnapped by a strange woman, who claimed to be a librarian but is actually a spy—”

“ _Archaeologist_ spy,” she sniffed. “I’m no scholar.”

Kaladin smacked his forehead with one hand. “Whatever. Whatever you are. Whatever just happened. Storms, nothing on this storming planet makes any storming sense,” he muttered and stormed off. “I’m going to find storming Jandel and Kor’ad,” he called, and all but fled. 

Thane crouched down. “So, Slick,” she said. “I see ‘stay at the Tol, no matter what else,’ doesn’t seem to register with you, huh?”

Ellian glanced over at Warren. “No.”

“Give it a rest. It was a matter of life and death, Thane!” Warren cut in. 

“Oh, it was, was it? And—”

“Elder Tenvar,” Ellian said.

She paused for a second, and he could see the moment the realization hit her. “Took offense, did he?”

“Yep.”

“Fates, Slick, I told you to get in touch if it looked like that was going to happen—”

“He broke the mirror.”

Thane closed her eyes for a second. “That mirror dated back to the Shining Lands. It was said to have been used during the time of Aarkein Devaed.”

Ellian shrugged. 

“Not your fault, kiddo,” she said, and then her voice turned venomous. “But Tenvar is going to regret—”

“He’s dead too.” This time it was Warren. 

“Tenvar is _dead_?” 

“Crossed one of the new Augurs, last I heard,” said Warren, “and then he was in Tol Athian during the invasion.”

Thane nodded. “Right, right. See, I would have thought Athian would have seen fit to _tell_ me that, but no, no one tells the adventurer anything.”

Warren shrugged. “It’s only been a couple of months.”

She made a noise of frustration. “Only a couple of months, he says. We have instantaneous communication, and it takes a few months for me to find out pertinent information for my damn job? What next, there’s another group of Gifted trying to get into Deilannis?”

“There were the people from Athian—”

“I know about the party from Athian!” she snapped. 

“Kaladin’s going to get lost,” Warren observed. 

“None of us are talking about Kaladin,” Thane said. 

“We are now,” Ellian said. “You stole him. Explain.”

“Touchy, touchy,” said Thane. 

“I make a habit of keeping an eye on my friends,” Ellian said. 

“Funny, I hadn’t noticed him wearing one,” she said. 

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. I think you’re projecting,” she said. Ellian hated it when Thane did stuff like this. She always tried to get so _introspective._ Psychological-like. Sometimes Ellian didn’t want people trying to guess at every damn thing in her head. Thoughts were supposed to be secret, weren’t they?

Thane was probably doing the Thing again, but Ellian tried to hold the box around her mind again. Fates-cursed Augurs. 

“Projecting _what_?” Ellian asked. 

“I think you know,” she said, not unkindly. “It’s been a while since you last saw Vantos, hasn’t it?”

Ellian took a deep breath. “Don’t talk about Ant.”

“Look,” she said, “we all did our best, but we weren’t able to save him. That’s just how these things go sometimes. That doesn’t mean that he didn’t exist—”

“Don’t _talk_ about it!” Ellian shrieked. “I don’t want to think about it! Stop it!”

She reached a hand out and rested it on her shoulder, but Ellian wasn’t having it. She knocked her hand away and took off running into the forest. She could go to damnation. They could all go to damnation.

* * *

Kaladin had just found Kor’ad, sprawled out face-up on the ground under a tree, when something enormous and fuzzy slammed into him from the side. Fight instincts taking over, he whirled and spun. Behind him, Jandel _squeaked_. Kaladin finally got his bearings and stared into the eyes of…

Cyr’s memories informed him that this incredibly odd-looking monstrosity of fur and teeth and scar tissue was some kind of wolf. It stood nearly up to the middle of his chest, and Kaladin was not a short man. One of its’ blue eyes had been ripped out of its head, and there was a mangled mess of scabs over that half of its’ face; its ear had been ripped off on that side. The beast, though immensely powerful, was also missing a leg. It had clearly lost a fight with something.

Kaladin didn’t intend to lose a fight to _it_. 

The wolf snarled, teeth bared, and Kaladin considered it. “Jandel,” he said, trying not to move, “can you throw me a staff, or a sword, or a…something?”

“Slow down!” Jandel suggested instead. 

_Right, I can do that now._

He tried to reach out for kan, found it, had it slip out of his fingers, grimaced, reached for it again, and immediately found himself flat out on the ground with a slavering wolf trying to get its teeth around Kaladin’s neck. Instinct had made him throw out a hand and all that was keeping the enormous monstrosity from utterly shredding his flesh was one Essence-strengthened arm. “ _Jandel_!”

“ _I don’t have anything you need to slow down!_ ”

“ _I can’t_!”

“You _have to_!”

“I’m no good at it and I don’t want to _die_!” Kaladin yelped. 

Kor’ad stirred. 

“ _Kor’ad give me your knife!”_

“What?” Kor’ad said blearily. 

“Kor’ad I need your knife right at this moment please give me your knife,” Kaladin said in one breath. “I’m going to die give me your _knife_.”

Kor’ad opened his eyes, blinked once, and then whistled. “Down, boy.”

The wolf backed up and sat on its haunches, panting. 

_What in fates_ … “ _No_. That thing is _not_ a dog.”

Kor’ad squinted at him, looking exhausted. “Here, boy,” the burned man said, tapping the leafy ground with one hand. The wolf obeyed, suddenly made docile.

“It’s a fates-cursed dog,” Jandel said.

“Sure looks like one lucky son of a bitch,” Kor’ad noted, slowly rolling to his feet next to the enormous dog. “Like one of us. Life didn’t try hard enough to kill ‘em.” 

“I like that,” said Jandel. “Lucky, the one-eyed, three-legged dog.”

“Doesn’t sound all that lucky to _me_ ,” Kaladin grumbled, but no one was listening to him. He spoke a little bit louder, “We should head back to where we left Warren and Ellian.”

Kor’ad nodded. And then _whistled for the damned dog_. To follow him. Kaladin was going to die. The damn dog was going to storming _kill him_. 

They slowly made their way back to camp.

* * *

Ellian was about ready to fates-cursed punch someone. Not someone. Thane. She wouldn’t _stop_. The adventurer had dragged her back to camp, and Ellian didn’t want to deal with this. And now Thane was _interrogating_ Ellian. The fates could have Thane. Ellian didn’t want this.

“So you could say that Kaladin is like a surrogate-older-brother? Is that why you’re so possessive of him specifically?”

Ellian ground her teeth, glaring at the forest.

Which was moving. 

Someone was there. 

_Wait_. 

Kaladin, Jandel, and Kor’ad, and the most incredibly beautiful, if bloody, dog Ellian had ever seen limped out of the forest. 

_A dog._ Ellian had always wanted a dog. 

“We’re back—”

“You got me a _dog_?”

Kaladin immediately went slack-jawed for exactly one second. Ellian counted. “We…yes. We got you a dog.”

“Does it have a name?” Thane asked idly, flipping a coin over her knuckles and into her palm. “Looks like it should be called Mincemeat. Or possibly Half-Dead.”

Kor’ad snorted. “Lucky.”

“Lucky,” Ellian repeated dubiously. 

“Lucky,” Kaladin confirmed. 

“You named a dog with half it’s entire body mass missing… _Lucky_ ,” Warren asked dubiously.

“Sounds fitting,” said Thane. 

“You can stop talking,” Ellian growled at her. “I love Lucky. The dog is _mine_ , right?”

“It’s yours,” Jandel said. “Don’t let it eat you.”

“I would never,” Ellian said, and she sprinted towards Kaladin and the stunning wolfhound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise you can figure out who Ant is now


	43. Candies and Counting Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ft: a child bitching about her lack of alcohol

Ellian was trying not to fall asleep on the dark brown surface of a bar. She had a glass of apple juice. _Apple juice_. Kal nursed a glass of some kind of brandy, and Jandel and Kor’ad were doing shots, and Thane was getting about as drunk as she could off of something dark enough to block the light from coming through it. 

And Ellian got fates-cursed _apple juice._

She hated fruit. Especially apple. And apple juice. And fruit juice in general. Fates, when she first escaped from the school, she’d been able to come to this particular fates-damned place and order literally anything off of the menu—no one would have looked twice, and she’d developed a taste for it on the road. But Kal had looked so _disappointed_ in her when she ordered a glass of whiskey same as he had, and then he had cut in and corrected the barmaid _“it’s okay, she means fruit juice_ ,” and she hadn’t said _no_ , and now. Now she had a fates-cursed glass of fates-damned apple juice. 

At least Warren was suffering too. 

She took a sip of the foul liquid, and then set it back on the bar. 

Fates, it was late. They had walked the whole day, talking with Thane—or, well, everyone _else_ talked with Thane. Ellian mostly had glared at the Augur. For some reason, she seemed to think that it was funny. 

Ellian was also trying very hard to not think about what Thane had tried to convince her of. Kal was _not_ a replacement for Vantos. No. He was _not_. 

She was trying really hard to not believe that. 

It didn’t help much, considering it was true, but she could do her best. 

Someone tapped her on her shoulder. She blinked blearily into the light of a few Essence lamps; their face was silhouetted behind it, and at first she wasn’t sure if it was Kal or Thane.

“Ellian?”

It was Kaladin. 

“What?”

“It’s getting late,” he said. 

“I’m _not_ tired,” she lied resolutely. Kaladin nodded. 

“Want to play a round of cards?” he offered. 

“Yeah—” Ellian’s response was cut off by a yawn clawing its way out of her throat like a weevil crawling out of a bag of dried grain. _Fates._ “I mean. Yes.”

Kaladin tried to fight back a grin. He was laughing at her. Fates-cursed man. Not her brother. _Not_ her brother. Fates. “Jandel’s dealing,” he said. 

Ellian mentally shook herself, trying not to kick at the table, and turned towards the cluster of drunken men. “Right,” she said. “What are we betting?”

Kaladin gestured at a scattered pile of small sugar candies. Suddenly, Ellian was wide awake. She _needed_ those candies. All of them. 

She chugged the last of the liquid in her cup, remembered that she didn’t like it, and made a face to make sure no one else would possibly forget it. “Let’s do this.” 

* * *

Kaladin had been doing fairly well at this game until Ellian joined.

In fact, the only one who hadn’t immediately started losing when Ellian joined was Kaladin. And there could be no doubt—he was still definitely losing. 

Kor’ad was already on his last piece of candy. Jandel had three. Thane had four, and Kaladin had seven. Warren was already out. In the last ten hands, Ellian had somehow managed to take the remaining fifteen pieces. 

They laid out the next hand, setting their cards out. 

Ellian won the round. Again. Kaladin was starting to think that the kid’s winning streak was not entirely up to chance, as the others seemed to. 

Kaladin sighed, drank another sip of the foul liquid that passed for wine in this world. They called it ‘whiskey.’ He hated it. It tasted like a chull had peed in a bag of lavis and the mixture had been left out during the Weeping to collect water and mold. From what Kaladin could remember, this was a fairly accurate depiction of what people did to make the swill. He couldn’t believe that Ellian had actually _wanted_ this stuff. 

Kor’ad tapped his glass on the table. “’M out of the game. Goin’ back t’the room.”

Kaladin was starting to worry about how often Kor’ad seemed to get drunk. Every time they were in a town. It wasn’t healthy. 

“I’ll walk you up there,” offered Warren, who hadn’t been drinking. “I’m going to turn in for the night.”

Kor’ad looked back at the shadow, tripped, and fell over the leg of a chair into a sprawled heap on the floor. “Sounds good t’me,” he drawled, and Kaladin let Warren haul the much larger man back to his feet. The two of them staggered down the hall. 

Kaladin turned back to the game in time to see Ellian pop a candy into their mouth with a smirk. 

“You shouldn’…shouldn’…you can’ eat that,” Jandel said, swatting the kid on the shoulder. “We’re playin a game.”

“You’re too drunk to win,” Ellian chirped. “And you’re down to one piece. Let me shuffle.”

Jandel mutely handed over the deck.

Ellian shuffled. 

Kaladin watched their fingers. 

They set the deck out, stacking cards, and…there. She flicked a card into her sleeve. He would have missed it if he wasn’t watching for it. She _was_ cheating!

A small, sharp smile was sitting on Thane’s face as she gambled away the last of her pieces. “I’m all in.”

“As am I,” Jandel said, and Kaladin bit back a sigh. He pushed the rest of his candies into the center of the pile. “Same here.”

Ellian grinned. “These are good odds.” She shoved her pile into the center as well. 

Kaladin knew he was going to lose, and he put his cards down without much heed for the game at hand. Jandel, clearly, did the same. Thane still had that sharp-lipped, triumphant smile on her face as she set down a house card—clearly the highest card she thought should have been in play. Kaladin wasn’t sure why. Even he had a queen in his hand. Was this some strategy of hers?

Ellian put down a northwarden. “I win.”

Thane jumped up, smile gone. “You didn’! You can’t’ve! I put a king—”

“That’s a house,” Kaladin said dryly.

“I play’d a house?” 

“You did,” Ellian said. 

“’M leaving,” she muttered. “Can’t see straight, won’ stay up.”

“Alright,” said Kaladin, and he stood up to help her to their rented rooms down the hall. The bar spun around him, and Ellian caught him by the back of his shirt.

“You’re drunk too,” the kid snorted. 

“I didn’t drink much,” said Kaladin.

“Lightweight,” snickered Ellian. 

“Twelve year old,” Kaladin shot back.

Ellian glared at him until he shrugged. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“I’m almost fourteen.”

Kaladin felt a pang of pain. _Tien had almost been fourteen._

“Who’s Tien?” Ellian asked. “You keep saying that—”

“I said that out loud?”

Ellian and Thane both nodded. _Fates, I thought I’d gotten over that._

“I’m _also_ going to go to sleep—”

“You’re going to tell me who in fates Tien is!” Ellian shouted, slamming their hand into the pile of candies. Sweets scattered across the tabletop with a noise like rocks falling. 

“I’m going,” said Kaladin, as sharply as he could, “to sleep.”

Ellian kicked him. 

“What the _hell_?” Kaladin yelped. 

“I deserve to _know!_ ” Ellian said, throwing a candy at him. Kaladin caught it before it hit him. 

“I deserve my secrets!” Kaladin said. “Unless _you_ want to talk about _Ant_?” 

He expected that to shut Ellian up. Fates, it had to be close to two in the morning. Instead, the kid made an outraged expression, stopped, suddenly looked thoughtful—Kaladin was starting to get a bad feeling about this—and finally settled on almost _triumphant_. 

Storms, that couldn’t be good.

Ellian grabbed his arm, popped a candy in their mouth and shoved the rest into the pockets of the red coat Kaladin had given him, and dragged the two of them both towards their rooms.

“Ellian, can you let go—”

“No.”

Ellian was surprisingly strong considering they barely came up to Kaladin’s chest, but he was also drunk, apparently, and didn’t do much to pull away from the angry child. 

“What is this—”

“You’re going to tell me about Tien, and I’ll tell you about Vantos,” Ellian said.


	44. Vantos and Tien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i posted the wrong chapter twice and then deleted this one?  
> guess im still tired

Kaladin didn’t know exactly how this had happened, but he was ready to die. 

Ellian had sprawled out directly on top of him. His face was smashed into the floor; his arms hurt. Jandel’s snoring was driving him up a wall.

“Tell me about Tien,” she insisted. 

“I can’t _breathe_!” Kaladin grunted. 

She poked him on the face. “Tell me about Tien.”

Kaladin sighed. “Can’t. I can’t breathe.”

She laughed. “Seriously.”

Kaladin started seeing spots, so he tried to knock her off without hurting her. He flipped over. She grabbed his ankles. 

“Tell me about Tien!” she insisted. 

“I don’t _want to_ —”

“You said you would tell me if I told you about Ant—”

“I thought you would say no!”

“Well I sure as fate want to know,” Ellian said. “Tell me about Tien tell me about Tien tell me about Tien!”

Kaladin tried not to to groan. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“Nope.”

“If I ask you nicely—”

“I’ll sic Lucky on you,” she threatened 

_Fates. She can be vicious, can’t she?_

_Wait._ “It _is_ ‘she,’ today, right?” he asked.

She looked surprised by the change of subject for a second, but then nodded. “Yeah. She-her pronouns for now.”

Kaladin smiled encouragingly. “It’s getting really late—”

“You’re just trying to get out of telling me about Tien,” she said angrily.

“Yes I am,” Kaladin said. “Because I don’t want to.”

She glared at him, yawned, and then went back to glaring. “You want a candy?”

“Please don’t throw it at me this time,” Kaladin said. 

She huffed. “I wasn’t going to,” she said, but a smirk gave it away.

“You were, weren’t you?”

“I was _definitely_ not,” she said, but now she was full-on grinning. She held out a hand with a single yellow candy in it. Kaladin took it. 

“Thanks.”

“So—” Kaladin began.

“So you’re going to tell me about Tien now, right?” she said.

“No. You’re going to tell me about Ant, first.”

Ellian’s amused expression immediately vanished. “You first.”

“Nope,” said Kaladin. 

“You go first—”

“Are we really going to do this?” Kaladin said. “I just agreed to your terms. You go first.”

Ellian glared. She sat down on the floor. Kneeling down, Kaladin did the same.

“So,” said Ellian, and waited. 

“So,” Kaladin prompted.

“So Ant’s name was Vantos,” Ellian said. “He was my brother. He’s dead. End of story.”4

 _Oh_.

“Tien was my brother,” Kaladin said. “He’s also dead. Guess that sums it up, doesn’t it?”

She glared at him. 

“You’re going to have to elaborate first,” Kaladin said. _Please don’t please don’t please don’t_ — 

Ellian took a deep breath and started to speak again. “Vantos was three years older than me,” she said. “He was good at Essence. Not the best, but he wasn’t doing badly, you know? He sure wasn’t in the outer circle. He wanted to be on the Council of Elders, but we all knew he wasn’t really going to be that important. But he tried anyway, and that was all anyone ever really asked for. Vantos was the only person I ever knew who would ever try that hard.”

She stopped. 

“Tien was three years younger than me,” Kaladin said. “Kind of like you, actually. My father wanted him to be another helper—my father was a surgeon—but Tien couldn’t stand blood. He was the happiest person I ever knew. He ended up being an apprentice carpenter. He was…he was good.” He was startled to find that he had tears pricking at his eyes, so he stopped speaking. Ellian waited a second, and then picked back up with her history.

“Vantso was the one who first met Thane, back when last year when I was eleven and he was fifteen,” she said. “Him and Warren. They were in the library together, studying—Thane showed up, threw Warren into an archiving room and Ant into a wall, and then healed them both. She was looking for someone, or maybe something, I don’t know. But Ant talked her into meeting with us. We were all….it was me and Dustfingers and Ant and _Red_.” Ellian spat the last name like something foul. “May he be tormented eternally. Anyway, Thane taught us some stuff, invited us into her secret organization, hung out for a couple of months in secret, and then vanished with the Boots. She stole them from somewhere in the Tol.”

Kaladin nodded when she paused, but then she started speaking again. “Vantos was the one who said we probably shouldn’t trust her. But then the Trials were coming up, and she came back, and she told them that they needed to get out. That some things were going to go down, and we all needed to go south or else. She told us that she couldn’t help us escape, that this would be a test to see if we could join her Truthguards. I think she meant it as a sort of test, to see if we would do it. We planned. I was going to back out, but Vantos told me to trust Thane and everything would be alright. Warren helped us. Red said he was going to help us, too. May he suffer for all eternity.”

Ellian stopped. Kaladin waited. 

“Well?” she said. “Your turn.”

Kaladin took a deep breath. “Tien was thirteen when he died,” he said. “I was sixteen. We were both…my father had…Storms. My father had done some things that maybe weren’t the most legal. He was…he was the only surgeon in town,” he said. “Lirin wouldn’t charge for surgeries, so we didn’t have much money, and we got a new citylord who wanted to make life difficult for us. So he did. We persevered. And then _Amaram_ ,” Kaladin said hatefully, “Amaram’s army came around recruiting, and Roshone, the bastard, sent my brother with them to die. I went with them. Said I would protect Tien.”

She looked at him. “Vantos swore our plans were secret,” she said. “He told us taht there was no one who knew about it, and we got ready to leave, and we were _going_ to leave, when one of the Elders and one of the Administrators from the school came out running at us. Red surrendered without a fight. They weren’t even angry with Red. The bastard had sold us out. May he suffer. They took us back to the school, claimed that we hadn’t properly run away, used the Fourth on us, sent us back to our dorms. I got demoted to the Outer Circle.not too long after, Warren ran away alone. He made it almost two weeks before he was caught. They made him into a Shadow for that.”

Kaladin took a deep breath. 

“They told me Tien was going to be a messenger because he couldn’t stand the sight of blood,” Kaladin said. “Stuck a spear in my hands and a spearman’s armor on me, but they didn’t do anything for him except give him a piece of paper. I got good a the spear—actually, I was always good with a spear. Impressed the hell out of my drill sergeant. But first battle we were in, we were…it was a messy loss. They stuck Tien in the middle of it. I tried to find him, to _protect him_..he died in front of me. It was my fault. I should have been faster—”

“ _Not_ your fault,” Ellian said. “Eat another candy and stop feeling bad about it. What has it been, ten years?”

“Three or four, at the most,” Kaladin said.

“You’re a hell of a lot younger than the others,” Ellian said. 

“That, or a lot older,” Kaladin said. “I still can’t even figure out which life was a lie.”

Ellian nodded. “I’ve got no idea what that’s like, but it must be awful.”

“It…bothers me,” he said. “Mostly I try to ignore the disconnect, though.”

“Right,” she said. “Well. Vantos got on the bad side of one of the Administrators. Went by Selvis. That was all Red’s fault, damnation take him. May he burn forever. Selver…did some things. I don’t know what. But Ant turned up dead after a week, and Selvis didn’t see…anything. Selvis never faced any kind of consequences. I told the Elders. They did nothing. I called Thane—she gave me a Vessel that let me talk to her from far away—and she came back. Found out what happened, killed Selvis. Warned me about Red.”

“They said Red died, right?”

“Red died,” she agreed, and there was that angry light behind her eyes once again. “Red fell down a flight of stairs. We were arguing, I yelled at him, he pushed me…I pushed him back. He fell. I…I didn’t know what to do,” she said. “I called one of the Elders who had seemed to listen to me. He was from the Tol down south, so I didn’t know him well. His name was…Tenvar. Ilseth Tenvar. He…Tenvar found my mirror, recognized it. Destroyed it. Tried to kill me. I got away, but it was…not safe. It was not good. I…eventually decided to run away to Ilin Ilan, and that seemed to work for a little while, but then the Blind invaded, and that…everyone I knew there is dead.”

 _Storms above_. “Tenvar is dead, too. And so is Red. You don’t have to worry about them ever again.”

She nodded. “I should have been stronger, though. If I had stopped Selvis when he came for Ant, then maybe—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Kaladin said again. “You couldn’t know.”

Ellian stared at him. “You blame yourself too. I know you do. You can’t tell me not to. I should have known—”

“I should have known better than to trust the words of a lightyes,” Kaladin said, “but I was a fool, and I did. Your Administrators had the Fourth Tenet. There wasn’t anything you could do.”

She set her jaw. “I should have tried anyway.”

“We all have things we should have done differently,” Kaladin agreed. “Everything I do, I do it wrong. I get the impression that you can relate.”

Ellian blinked. “It’s getting late,” she said.

In fact, it had been getting light. The sun was just breaking over the horizon. But he knew what she meant. 

“That it is,” Kaladin agreed, pushing himself up off the floor and holding a hand out to the kid. “Come on. You’d best get some sleep.”

He opened the door, but she didn’t go back to her and Warren’s room. Instead, she grabbed what looked like _all_ of Kaladin’s bedding and curled up on the floor.

“What are you—”

“Going to sleep. Good night, Kal.”

Kaladin considered trying to carry her to her room, but then changed his mind. He could live without blankets for one night. He laid down, and stared at the slowly lightening ceiling until darkness overtook him. 


	45. A Dark, Cracked Landscape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please pay close attention to who does what in this chapter  
> and by that i mean read the first literal line in the entire chapter  
> that happens to be an important line

By the time Cyr woke up, it was dark out once more. Something cold and hard echoed in his mind; a landscape of cracks barely remembered stretched away from his mind’s eye. Shadowy figures writhed…he couldn’t remember what it had been.

Someone prodded him in the ribs.

He yawned, considered getting up, changed his mind, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, in that order. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get up,” Ellian said. “He, today.”

Cyr yawned again, and then, ignoring his protesting body, sat up. The last vestiges of whatever unremembered dream he’d been having had left him unsettled. “It’s past sundown?”

“Yes it is.”

“Jandel’s still asleep.”

“Jandel got up and went back to sleep. It’s been a few hours.”

Cyr groaned. “Can’t I go back to sleep and get up in the morning, then?”

“No,” said Ellian. “I’m bored.”

Cyr realized something. “Who gave me a blanket?”

“I did,” Ellian said. “Now get up. I wanna go play fetch with Lucky.”

“Is your _dog_ in my room?”

“Yes,” said Ellian. “Now get up.”

Cyr threw his pillow at Ellian.

Ellian smirked. “Lucky, up.”

“Wait, what are you—”

Lucky, who happened to be an enormous wolfhound mix, jumped up onto Cyr’s bed. One of the dog’s three paws landed squarely in between his legs, and he curled in on himself with the nauseating agony of it. 

“Great!” said Ellian. “Now get out of bed.”

Cyr pushed the dog off of him. “No,” he grunted. 

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

“Bad luck,” Cyr said. He was more concerned with keeping breathing. _A dark landscape of cracks…_

That dream had him really fates-cursed disoriented. 

What had he _possibly_ dreamed?

Cyr took a deep breath. “Ellian, what time is it?”

“It’s only eleven,” Ellian said. “Kaladin, are you okay? Seriously?”

Cyr shrugged— _wait_. 

“Say that again,” he said. 

“Are you okay?” Ellian asked, sounding very concerned. 

“Not that,” Cyr said. “Um. My name.”

“Kaladin?”

Cyr blinked. He’d forgotten how it was pronounced. That was _bad._

 _Dark cracks, stretching away from him…shadow creatures, prowling the horizon_ …

Cyr suddenly knew exactly what he had dreamed of. Even if he didn’t know the specifics.

“Thank you,” he said. 

“ _Kaladin what’s going on are you okay_?” Ellian was frantic. Storms, that wasn’t what he’d meant to do.

“I’ll be alright,” Cyr—no, Kaladin—said. “I’m…getting over it.”

“Getting over _what_?”

Cyr shrugged. _Fates_. Kaladin shrugged. “It.”

_Stormfather, am I going to have to go back over the integration process again?_

No. Not really. He was one person. Still only one. Just…with…

Cyr’s memories of being Cyr were _fuller_. He knew more. Nothing, still, that told him of Trakmorlar, or whatever his name was…but he _knew_ things.

Nothing about the Truthguards, but he remembered planning for them. He didn’t know why he had wanted to establish the Truthguards, but he had known it would be necessary. He remembered setting the plan. For an order. His order. It would have been perfect. 

It _should_ have been perfect. 

Except that he remembered breaking it to pieces. Not why, but knowing it also was necessary. A city fell and consumed itself into a pile of ashes in his mind, and he broke his own order of scholars just to make them forget the reason why. 

And he knew Essence. He knew how to use it, if not properly, then somewhat well at least. He remembered more of the time he spent with Andrael; he knew some of the advancements they had made. And yet he still didn’t know much about kan. 

He closed his eyes for a second. 

“Lets go play with your dog,” Kaladin said. 

Ellian whistled for Lucky, and the one-eyed dog jumped down and followed after the child with the most incredibly eager expression Kaladin had ever seen on any living thing, be they animal or human. Kaladin stood up.

“I’ll get dressed, and then meet you outside,” he said. 

* * *

That morning, Cyr had more bruises than he cared to count. Ellian’s dog _storming jumped._ The damn thing was heavy. 

He woke before the sun rose. No one else was awake with him, so he sat down and stared at the dark window from the bar and tried to figure out who in fates he was. 

Every step he took in this place, he felt further and further from who he had been as Kaladin. As more and more of being Cyr came back to him, he started to worry. Cyr and Andrael—and Wereth, way back when he had scarcely even joined the Venerate—had experimented with Vessels that could make false memories, even false lives. What if Kaladin Stormblessed had been nothing but an illusion?

Worse, he knew, was if he had accidentally used Kan while he was in the Tributary to give himself some sort of escape. The life he had thought he had lived was too complicated and not self-aware enough to be a dok’en, which would mean it had to take place inside his own head. He could have caused himself serious mental damage. This fracturing of himself could be the result of that, actually. 

Kaladin and Cyr. Two halves of one whole, or two wholes forced to behave as though they were halves? The more he learned of being Cyr, the more likely it became that the former was the truth. And he wasn’t ready to face that. 

He would still go by Kaladin. That was a given. Too many people knew him as Kaladin, and in any case the name Cyr would absolutely be recognized by his enemy. 

He closed his eyes for a long moment. He was going to be alright. He was Kaladin, even if Kaladin was a lie. The effects of that life on him were what mattered, and those were certainly still there—even if he were changed somewhat in the process.

When he opened them, the sun’s first scarlet rays had started to dance over the distant mountains. 

He stared at the rising sun for a moment. The dawn of a new day. Suddenly, possessed with a strange restlessness he’d felt all too often these days, Kaladin stood up and all but sprinted for the door to the bar. 

He was clad in only pajamas, and the slight chill to the damp morning air was enough to ice him to his bones, but the sight of the sun breaking through the mountains like water crashing through a dam was well worth it. Clouds scattered at its light. Birds awoke and began making their customary noise.

 _If I was only Kaladin_ , Kaladin thought with a dizzy grin, _I would have thought that each one was a chicken. Look, that one’s a songbird, and this one’s a starlet. I’d probably just have called them ‘small flying chickens.’ I don’t know why I ever decided to learn to identify birds, but I know how, and I can’t think of anything more unbelievably funny than just calling them all, of all the things, chickens._

Fates. This place. This planet. It was incredible to think that he might have seen a sunrise over the mountains of more than one _planet_. 

Storms take him, but he was too exhausted, and too cold, to admire it.

He leaned back and let himself fall into the dirt and sparse grass in the front of the tavern and stared at the sky dully until it got bright enough and he got cold enough that he didn’t want to stare at it any more. Maybe twenty minutes, at the most.

He bathed himself in Essence almost as an afterthought, and watched the glow rise from his skin like reddish-tinged Stormlight. It didn’t curl from his skin like smoke, but seemed to emanate from somewhere deep inside of him. Curiously, he looked at the back of his hand and found that the almost golden glow, just ever so faintly, let him see where his veins were. Where his _bones_ were. The glow emanated almost as though it were coming from the bones themselves, and the entirety of his hand was lit from within. It was fascinating. Kaladin was fascinated. 

And it was hot, so he let some of the Essence slough off back into his Reserve. More went than he had meant it to. He still didn’t have his control back, even if he knew how to use Essence for real now. 

Well. At least he was dry, and not covered in dew and mud. He thought he might have healed the bruises on him, too, considering how he didn’t ache when he stood up. 

He yawned, and stretched. The sun was nearly fully risen; the last touches of pink had fled the clouds, and now they blazed a brilliant white-gold and yellow. It was going to be a very warm day today. 

He braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, and walked back to his rooms to wait for the rest of them to wake up.


	46. Interlude - Repression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is...angst war stuff  
> @pen-and-sword i HOPE YOURE HAPPY
> 
> Set in between chapters 43 and 44, from Ellian's POV

Ellian was trying very hard not to cry. 

It was late afternoon, almost night, by now, and the sun had risen like a bouncing ball and begun its slow descent; and for all this, he still hadn’t fallen asleep. Kaladin, somehow, had managed, and slept through the day soundly as anything. He found himself unutterably jealous of that fact. He would have very much appreciated sleep, right now. 

Or to cry. But there was more people than just him in this room—even if they were asleep—and so she would not. He was Ellian, carved from stone, sharp as cut glass. He would not cry in front of them. He would _not_. 

He choked out a small sob, and held his breath until it went away. 

How awful it was! He could hardly even remember Ant’s face. Oh, he knew—he’d described it to himself, to pass the dark nights in Ilin Ilan. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Soft, warm smile, like sunlight seen, dancing softly, in bands of light in slow-moving steam over a cup of hot tea. And yet. It didn’t come close. He didn’t dare try to remember Ant’s face. He knew what he could see in his mind’s eye all too well; it was scorched into the backs of his eyelids like a brand that never went away. He saw it often enough in the dark, and it was too much. He didn’t want to remember it. 

And yet the image came unbidden. _A dark bruise over a broken jaw. Blood in the dirt. A hole where there should have been an eye. And blood, thick and dark, his brother’s life-blood mingling with the ash-dry dirt…_

He gritted his teeth and breathed it away. It was away. It would be away. It would not trouble him any more. Ant had taught him how to chase thoughts away through an effort of will, calling it a form of mental Essence manipulation. It used to work.

It didn’t work very well any more. 

_Half-dried blood, black and sticky and clumped in bits, smelling of sweetness and iron and salt, mingling with the sub-baked dirt_ …

He wasn’t there. He wasn’t too late. It was in the past. He chased the thought away again. 

_What do I…_

He whistled for Lucky. Thank the Fates, the dog came quickly. 

_He hadn’t been quick enough—red blood black against mud—bends in limbs where there should have been none—blood on his hands, on his shirt, on his bare feet, in his hair—_

He blinked it away and stood up, leaning a hand on the dog’s shoulder. Lucky sniffed at his face and then looked eagerly towards the door, and Ellian numbly followed the animal outside. His hand touched the doorknob—

It came to him in a flash of memory, and he felt it as though he were there. 

* * *

_A hand on the knob. It was burning hot, the melting, sweltering heat of the middle of the day in the middle of the summer; the fire-hot metal leached into his skin and burned it, but the chill in his heart of hearts was enough that he barely felt the scorch of it. He was cold, terrified. The blood in his veins was ice. He hadn’t seen Ant for days, not since the Administrator had taken him with the Fourth for some reason. He had to find out what happened._

_Selvis’s rooms. He had to get there. Had to be fast enough to find his brother before anything happened. Maybe Selvis did something. Maybe Ant was in trouble with Administration, real trouble. The kind of trouble that killed people. What would Ellian do?_

_He turned the knob. A blast of hot sunlight and marginally cooler wind caught him full in the face, and it pricked like needles on his skin. He pulled the hood of his red cloak up over his face. The sun’s intense light was like a knife in his eyes._

_Run. He would run. He would find his brother before it was too late—_

* * *

Ellian wrenched himself back to reality. His hands were shaking against the wood of the door, and black spots crowded his vision. His fingers were cold and numb, and he couldn’t feel them. He was dizzy. It felt like…like…

There was something in his head that he couldn’t remember, not really, but it felt like something that had happened back then. Something too terrible to conceive of. 

He was glad, then, that he didn’t know what it was. Whatever he had, lurking in his head…he didn’t want to know it. 

He took a deep breath, moving his hands from the door. 

He was dizzy. He leaned back against the doorframe. The wood was chill to the touch. It helped to ground him. He wasn’t back there. He wasn’t too late this time. The past was in the past. He had been too late. Now, he was still alive. He needed to…to do something. Keep himself not thinking about it. He didn’t _want_ to think about it. 

He opened the door and brought Lucky outside. Or, well. To the inside of the inn, but about as outside as that door got. 

_A dark hallway…_

Ellian sprinted for the outside door. _No. That never happened_.

* * *

_A dark hallway. The Administration building. Tile, black. Glass in the windows, fine and polished. Artwork lining the halls. It was dreary and dark and stiflingly hot. Ellian was covered in gooseflesh. If he were discovered here, it would be a terrible transgression. He could be made into a Shadow over this._

_It would be worth it if he could—_

* * *

Ellian made it to the outside door of the inn and broke free, running more from his memories than he was from anything else. Lucky followed dutifully. “Good boy,” Ellian muttered. This was also more to himself than to the dog. “It’s all going to be alright…”

* * *

_…whispered Ant, bloody. Beaten. His jaw broken. But he was alive. Tied to a chair. Ellian couldn’t stop the thick tears falling down his face._

_“Was this Selvis?” Ellian asked, putting the lockpick wires back into the secret place in his sleeve._

_“Who else?” Ant laughed. His normally melodic voice had a rough tone. “It’s all going to be alright, Ellian. Just get out of here. He can’t kill me. Everything will be alright.”_

_Ellian swallowed his tears down. “The Administrators aren’t supposed to be able to harm Gifted,” he said cautiously._

_Ant grimaced. “I don’t think he considers this ‘harming,’” he said awkwardly. “He’s deranged, Slick. You don’t want to cross him. Go. Get out of here, before you get caught.”_

_Ellian stepped forwards. “I’m not leaving without you.”_

_“You have to!” Ant yelled. His voice cracked like old paint on a piece of broken wood. “Get out of here!”_

_Ellian had never heard Ant yell before. He took a step back, then two, and just as the tears started to come back he turned to leave…_

* * *

“No, no, no,” Ellian whispered to himself, burying his face in Lucky’s thick fur. “That isn’t what happened. That didn’t happen. I didn’t leave him there. It didn’t _happen_!”

His eyes stung, and his head pounded. When he sat back, Lucky’s matted fur was wet with his tears. “That’s not what happened,” he whispered again. “That can’t be what happened. I wasn’t fast enough. I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t…leave him there, I _didn’t!”_

He was screaming at the sky, clinging to his three-legged dog like a lifeline, tears running down his face. “ _That’s not what happened! I didn’t leave him there to die!_ ”

He stopped speaking. He was Ellian, strong as stone, sharp as cut glass. He had to be. And so he couldn’t cry. 

He held his breath until the tears stopped coming, and the dark splotches in front of his eyes came before that. Finally he took a deep breath, and with it returned the wracking, full-body sobs. He couldn’t hide them, but at least now they were silent. 

Passerby stared at him. He must have been a right sight. A crying child, and a dog that looked to have been cut to pieces and stuck together with glue and twine. 

“Lucky, come,” Ellian said hoarsely, and walked the enormous wolfhound into the courtyard of the inn. It was a dirty place; the grass was dead, and patches of earth showed through, cracked and parched for lack of water despite the rains that had just happened. Nothing grew here. 

Ellian pulled a ball out of his jacket. He threw it. The rubber thing clicked against the ground, sending up puffs of dust. “Lucky, fetch.”

Lucky went bounding off after the ball. 

Ellian breathed out, and as the dog came back and dropped the toy at his feet he noted that it was filthy; muddy and covered in drool. Red, but crusted with black, like a scab on a nasty wound…

 _No no no no no no no no_ , he thought, he didn’t want to think about it, _that wasn’t what happened, no no no…_

* * *

_Ellian came back the next day with a cup of water for Ant. He had been sneaky. And quiet. There was no one in the room but him and his brother—there shouldn’t have been, at any rate. Maron was helping him sneak in, acted as a watcher. He had to. Red—Maron—had turned Ant in for being the one who worked with Thane. This was his fault. Maron, little rat bastard though he was, looked about to shatter into pieces. This wasn’t what any of them had wanted. Besides, there was no one else he could turn to. Dustfingers had been sent away as a Shadow this past week._

_For running away._

_How ironic was that?_

_Ellian shook himself, readjusted his grip on the cup of water, and slipped his lockpick set into the door. A quick slip of the fingers, and he had it unlocked. Fates above, he owed Thane his life for teaching him that trick._

_Ant stared at him. His voice sounded like the rasp of bone on metal. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe—”_

_His brother, much to Ellian’s horror, broke off mid-sentence and began to cough violently. His neck was badly bruised. Like someone had stepped on it._

_“I have water,” Ellian whispered. Ant looked worse than yesterday, even. One of his eyes was swollen shut. There was a mass of blood in his hair on the back of his head, and his curly black hair was flattened unnaturally and stuck together there. Ellian’s very soul ached._

_Ant made a small noise, like a mewling kitten. It was the most needy sound Ellian had ever heard. But then the older boy shook his head. “Ellian, you have to get out of here—”_

_“You need water,” Ellian said. “He won’t notice me.”_

_“He will,” said Ant. “You need to leave.”_

_Ellian lifted the cup to where his brother could drink from it._

_“Is this real?” Ant whispered. “Ellian, you’re actually here, aren’t you?”_

_Ellian nodded. Tears were brimming in his eyes again, but he would not cry._

_“That’s my brother, huh?” Ant said. “Strong as if you were carved from stone. And as sharp as cut glass. You can’t be here. Selvis is like a hammer. He’ll shatter you, just like me.”_

_“Don’t say that,” Ellian whispered. “Drink the water.”_

_Ant closed his eyes slowly, and then opened them. Then he opened his mouth and downed the water. “Thank you. Thank you, fates above, Ellian.”_

_Ellian wavered. “I need to leave.”_

_“You need to leave quickly,” Ant corrected, his voice gentle but laced with steel. “Get out of here.”_

_Ellian fled the room. One more day. Then he would rescue Ant._

* * *

No no no no no no no—

The memory didn’t break off, and Ellian fell further into it.

* * *

_The door opened before Ellian could get to it. Maron was held by the back of the neck by someone tall, in Administration blue._

_It wasn’t Selvis. Thank the Fates, it wasn’t Selvis._

_Before Ellian could do anything, the man had his arm in a viselike grip. “By the Fourth Tenet, you will not talk to or touch the man in the chair.”_

_Ellian looked at the Administrator, pleading. He gestured towards Ant. “Man? He’s not even seventeen. Please, he’s hurt—”_

_The Administrator backhanded him across the face. Ellian fell reeling to the floor._

_“You filthy Bleeders,” the man growled. “Like rats.”_

_“Don’t talk to my brother like that, you half-witted cockless son of a whore!” Ant yelled._

_“You can shut your filthy mouth, Augur!” the Administrator spat back, words like acid._

_Ellian’s eyes widened. “Augur?”_

_The Administrator turned to Ellian, a vicious grin on his bastard face. “Oh yes,” he said. “Your brother is a monster.”_

_Ellian ground his teeth, pushing himself up from the floor. “My brother is as light and as harmless the smoke from a snuffed candle. Selvis is a monster.”_

_The Administrator kicked him in the ribs, and Ellian screamed despite himself. Something felt like it cracked within him. “Selvis is a good Administrator. Your brother is evil.”_

_“My brother is a good man!” Ellian said, crawling back up to his hands and knees. The Administrator planted a heavy, booted foot on his back and forced him to the ground again. “_

_“Your brother is a damned Augur!” the Administrator growled. “Selvis is right to treat him like this, and if I were him I’d have done a damn sight worse, I daresay!”_

_Ellian growled, trying to throw the man off of him. But he was only a slip of a kid, and eleven, and not very strong or skilled at this sort of thing…_

That never happened. He was makign things up. He had to be. 

Lucky pawed at Ellian’s hand again, and he realized that he had been holding onto the ball this whole time. He threw it. “Go get it, Lucky,” he whispered. His throat was hoarse and scratchy, and so was his voice. Just like Ant’s had been…

_Ellian was marched out of the Administration building and confined to his rooms with Maron. They were locked in._

_Ellian still had his lockpick, but first he turned on Maron._

_“Red, what happened?”_

_Maron started to cry. He was two years older than Ellian, and yet he was the one crying. For some reason, that made it easier for Ellian to keep himself under control. I am the cut glass, he thought. I am the stone. I do not weep._

_“Red,” said Ellian again. “Why did they know where I was?”_

_Maron choked out another sob. “I, I, I,” said Maron. “I had to, to tell them, who was in the room…”_

_Ellian punched him._

_Maron reared back, shocked. Blood spurted from his nose, the same color as his nickname._

_“Damn it, Red!” Ellian yelled. “My brother is going to die and it’s your damned fault!”_

_Maron didn’t even raise a hand to defend himself, and Ellian hit him in the face again with another swing. His fist hurt. Maron’s lip split, but the edge of his tooth caught Ellian;s knuckle and split it open. Ellian didn’t care. He knocked Maron to the ground._

_“It is,” Maron said weakly. “This is my fault. This is, this is all my fault.”_

_Ellian glared at him. “It is.”_

_“I, was the one,” he continued, a hopeless look on his face. “I was the one who, who, who told Elder Dain about us leaving.”_

_Ellian felt a bubble of hot anger well back up._

_“This, all of it,” Maron continued. “This is my fault.”_

_Ellian kicked him. “You rat! You, you, you bastard son of a dog and a whore!”_

_Maron cried just a little bit louder. “I was so scared!” he wailed._

_“Quit acting like a child!” Ellian shrieked._

_“I am a child!” Maron shrieked back._

_Ellian kicked him again. There was a soft crunch, and something bent weirdly in Maron’s wrist._

_Oh fates, oh fates, that looked broken. Ellian’s anger evaporated. “Holy fates, are you okay?”_

_Maron blinked. “I deserve worse.”_

_“You do,” said Ellian. “But I…”_

_To his horror, there was a tear struggling to free itself from his eye. No. No no no. He got himself back under control. “I’m not going to be that person,” said Ellian. “We need to call Thane.”_

_Maron started. “We can’t—”_

* * *

Ellian came back to himself as his back hit the dirt. Lucky stood over him. The dog had knocked him over. 

“Good dog,” Ellian said, sitting up. He stroked the silky fur on the dog’s head. “Good boy. Good dog.”

Lucky dropped the ball into Ellian’s hand and nudged his face. Ellian threw it. “Go get it.”

The dog ran away. The sun was going down. 

Fates, he could feel it tingling in his fingers. The memory was coming back. No no no…

* * *

_“We can’t call her,” said Maron desperately. “They’ll be looking for Augurs. We can’t—”_

_“We can’t let my brother die!” Ellian gritted out._

_“We have to!” Maron said._

_Ellian clenched his fist, but instead of hitting the sobbing piece of snot and blood on the ground before him, he strode over to Vantos’s dresser. Ant kept the Mirror in here. The thing to call Thane._

_He found the perfectly circular piece of glass and poured Essence into it, just like he had been shown. The glass turned milky black._

_Then there was an image. It looked like…a road, jolting. As though seen from horseback. The sound of clattering hooves on cobblestone added to this impression._

_“Thane!” Ellian yelled, hoping it was loud enough._

_The movement abruptly stopped, and then the horse swerved into a tangle of trees. Three other dark horses galloped past, their riders—Administrators in blue cloaks—not even seeming to see her._

_There was some sort of commotion, and the image shifted suddenly and nauseatingly. It spun. And then Thane’s grim face stared out at him from it._

_“Vantos is an Augur and they’re going to kill him,” Ellian blurted._

_Thane’s eyes widened. “Ant is no Augur,” she declared._

_“They’re still going to kill him,” Ellian said._

_Thane looked away. “I have important things to attend to—”_

_“More important than my brother’s life?”_

_“More important than my own life,” Thane agreed grimly. “I can be there in two days’ time. But not before.”_

_“What’s so important that you can leave now?” Ellian demanded._

_Thane’s eyes turned sharp. “I’m after something precious and important,” she said. “They’re called ‘seven-league boots.’ I should be able to get there soon. But I can’t leave until then.”_

_Ellian closed his eyes. “Two days is better than none.”_

_“That it is,” she said. “What do I always tell you?”_

_“A single copper is better than none, even if you need a ton,” Ellian recited dully. “Please. Administrator Selvis is—”_

_Thane’s amber eyes flashed pure gold for a second. “Did you just say that Administrator Selvis has your brother?” she all but growled._

_“Yes,” said Ellian._

_“I’ll be there in three hours,” she said, and ended the connection._

* * *

The memory relinquished its hold on him, and Ellian breathed in a breath of the cold-fresh air. The sun was already gone. Lucky, bless him, had curled up next to Ellian and was gnawing on the rubber ball as though it were a bone. Ellian stroked the wolfhound mix softly. The dirt near his face was mud. There were icy trails down his face from the tears. 

The icy numbness, the dizziness, it was back. The memory would be back. He couldn’t stop it. 

* * *

_Ellian picked the lock and snuck out of his room. Maron didn’t even try to stop him._

_He prowled the camp, barefoot and silent, slick as oil, invisible as the wind. He was cut glass, sharp and clever and hard to hold. He was the stone, strong, sturdy, unbreakable. He was nothing and everything; dust in the wind, sunlight, a bird’s light motion. He was unnoticeable. He had the trick of going hidden. He was Slick to the eye. Anyone who wasn’t desperately looking for him would pass him right over._

_He got to the Administration building, slipped inside. Slick, slick. Slippery as an eel, and sharp as cut glass. Silent as a spider._

_He slipped his lockpick wires into the lock. Unlocked the door. Waited._

_No one moved. There was no word. Ellian listened, but no one was inside._

_He slipped into the room._

_Ant seemed to be dead. His head dangled on his chest. One of his elbows was bent backwards, and it pulled strangely on his shoulder. Ellian bit back his cry of horror, but only barely. They must have tried to destroy him._

_He slid up to Ant. “Wake up,” he whispered._

_Ant’s eyes fluttered open. “Ellian, no!”_

_Ellian had his lockpick wires out, and he was fiddling with the cuffs that held Ant to the chair. There was a click, and they fell open._

_“Ellian—”_

_Ellian got an arm under Ant’s good—well, less bad—shoulder, and tried to hoist him up. Ant closed his eyes weakly. Then he pushed with both damaged arms off of his brother’s shoulders and forced himself almost silently to his feet._

_Ellian heard his agony anyway. When Ant was in pain, the air in a room turned to razors, even if he never said a thing._

_“I can walk,” said Ant. “I think I can run. Let’s get out of here.”_

_Ellian nodded. Ant took a stumbling step forwards, and Ellian quickly siphoned off some of his own Essence and all but threw it at Ant. He had never been great at healing people, but it looked like some of the bruises faded a bit._

_Ant smiled at him, and it was like someone had shone a light from behind a massive wall of thunderclouds. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”_

_The two of them slipped out of the room, and Ellian carefully locked the door behind them._

_“So,” said Ant. “You called Thane, right?”_

_“She’ll be here in an hour,” Ellian said._

_“Good,” said Ant. The razor-lines of tension surrounding him faded back for just a moment, before they returned in full force._

_“We need to move—” said Ellian, and then, despite himself, he dropped his lockpicks foolishly. He knelt and picked them up, clumsy all of a sudden._

_“Ellian?” asked Ant. “Are you alright?”_

_“We need to get out of here,” Ellian said more urgently. “You need to be somewhere that the Administrators won’t find you.”_

_Ant nodded. They started walking._

_Both of them were slick, but no one was as good at slickness as Slick was. And so Ellian managed to escape, but Ant drew attention._

_Someone followed them into the dense forest._

_Ellian didn’t see it, but he knew they were there._

_They were alone in the forest. He was jumping at shadows. Ant was very good at slickness too, and so they were definitely alone. Ellian believed this deeply, all of a sudden. His conviction in this was equally as strong as his belief that a stone would fall if it was dropped. If he had been paying more attention, he would have realized how strange that was._

_He helped Ant lean down against a tree, and then sat down himself. He opened a small pocket in his coat, and drew out his knife._

_Wait, he thought. What am I doing?_

_He drew the knife out of his pocket and held it overhand. Before he could change his mind, he plunged the weapon into Ant’s left eye. Horror suffused him._

_Why did he do that?_

_Something in him forced him to work the knife around, and in the sobbing gasps of Ant’s breath and the razor-lines of agony and fear and the pure expression on his face, Ellian could feel the horror he had just wrought. He had killed his brother. He just killed Ant. What in Fates had compelled him to do that?_

_Ant suddenly seemed to understand. With shaking hands, he leaned forwards ever so slightly and wrapped Ellian into what could have been a hug if he hadn’t lost his strenght in the middle of doing so._

_“It’s…” he croaked. “It’s going…to be alright, Ell…ian.”_

_His right eye went flat and glassy. And whatever had been holding Ellian still through this cut out, and his belief that they were alone did too._

_Ellian stared in mute horror for a second._

_And then, almost without meaning to, he began to scream._

* * *

Ellian tasted salt and dirt. Something cold and wet nudged his face. 

Lucky. Of course. He could have sworn it felt like the toe of a shoe, at first.

“Good dog,” Ellian muttered. 

“Kiddie, you have rooms inside,” a strange voice said, not unkindly. “With a woman and three men. Did they hurt you? It’s mighty cold to sleep outside, night like this.”

“No,” Ellian muttered. “No, I’m…I’m okay.”

“You don’t look it,” the stranger said. “The name’s Rendi. I could hear you crying from my room…”

“My brother is dead,” Ellian blurted. 

Rendi seemed taken aback, and then offered her age-wrinkled hand to Ellian. “That’s horrible,” she said. “You shouldn’t be alone, poor thing.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Ellian said resolutely. “I had my dog. Don’t call me that.”

“Poor?”

“Thing.” Ellian shook his hand out of hers and pushed himself to his feet. Unintentional acid laced his words. “I’ll be going inside now. Don’t worry. I won’t disturb you again.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Rendi said. “I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Ellian said roughly. He whistled for Lucky, and all but sprinted away from the grandmotherly stranger. 

He went into Kaladin’s room. He would be the only one he could talk to.

Ellian closed his eyes. And then, drawing every ounce of willpower and every last dreg of self-control he could muster up, and the most realistic false smile he could manage, he reared back and jabbed Kaladin in the ribs.


	47. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another chapter from on a bus during a field trip. just a heads up. at least i looked this one over, though

Cyr—no, Kaladin, really, was he going to have to do this again—Kaladin paced the room until Jandel woke up. 

The sun was bright enough, by then, that the light streaming in through the window made the dust dance and blaze in a way that Kaladin couldn’t help but notice. Back on Roshar, spren would have been glowing with it. If Roshar even existed in the first place, of course. _Which_ , he told himself sternly, _isn’t even important_. 

Jandel stretched, rolled over, and immediately fell right out of his bed and hit the ground hard. Kaladin winced beside himself. That sounded like it hurt. 

Jandel made a _noise_ , looked around, and mumbled a near-gibberish greeting. 

“Good morning,” Kaladin said. “I have a problem.”

* * *

The six of them gathered around a small table in the tavern. Now that the sun was up and the blinds had been drawn, it felt almost homey. Cozy, warm. A fire merrily crackling in the hearth against the early fall’s morning chill. 

“So,” said Ellian, glaring down at his cup of juice like he wanted it to spontaneously combust. He hadn’t touched the biscuit Jandel had ordered him, but instead scarfed down Kor’ad’s bacon. 

“So,” said Cyr. Said _Kaladin_. Fates. 

“Does this have anything to do with how _fates-cursed weird_ you were acting yesterday?” Ellian demanded, slipping a piece of bacon off of Thane’s plate trying fruitlessly to drop it on his own before she caught his wrist. 

“Brat,” she said fondly. “Give that back.”

Ellian looked at her, and then away very quickly. He dropped the piece of bacon on the table. 

Thane raised an eyebrow. 

“Answer my question,” Ellian said. He sounded strained, his voice full of phantom cracks. Thane immediately let go of his wrist. 

Kaladin nodded. “It has everything to do with how I was acting yesterday.”

“‘Say my name again,’ and all that?” Ellian pressed.

Thane and Kor’ad both flicked their eyes to Kaladin—Thane suddenly hostile, Kor’ad curious.

“Yes,” Kaladin said. “That.”

“What the hell!” Ellian said. 

“I forgot it,” he said. 

Jandel held up a hand. “I think you should explain this a little bit better,” he said. “This sounds…strange.”

Cyr—Kaladin glanced down at the table and his own cleaned plate. “I don’t know that my explanation is going to make this any better,” he said.

“Try,” said Thane.

Kor’ad handed him a piece of his roll. “We’re listening.”

Kaladin nodded, took a deep breath, and started to speak.

“My name is—” He hesitated for a moment, and then recaptured the word. That was happening more and more often. “Kaladin. I was born twenty years ago on a planet called Roshar, in a country called Alethkar. I was forced to fight in an army. I was sold into slavery. I freed myself and my fellow bridgemen from it. This is who I am. And yet, I’m…”

He paused. 

“You’re _what?_ ” demanded Jandel. “The story you told us was—”

“I know it’s more complicated than that!” He fiddled with the chunk of bread in his hands. “I don’t know how to conceptualize it.”

Thane made a noise. “Try anyway.”

Kaladin nodded. “I’m also…someone else. At the same time. And possibly not. I don’t know. My name is Cyr, and I’m almost four thousand years old if my math is right. I might be off by a few hundreds. I…a long time ago, there was…”

He stopped again.

“I don’t know what there was, actually. Some sort of betrayal. I can’t really remember. I was trapped, somehow—”

“How do you not know?” Kor’ad blurted.

“Not all of us remember everything perfectly,” Ellian hissed, and pushed away from the table with a sigh. “I’m going outside.”

Thane blinked. “Oh, fates.” She, too, slid up from her seat and followed the child as he all but fled. 

“Um,” said Kor’ad. 

“Um,” said Cyr.

“Are you going to continue?” Jandel asked.

Kaladin closed his eyes. “I think Thane might kill me if I go on without her.”

“I think you might be right,” Jandel agreed. “But fates take me, son, I’m curious. What did Ellian mean by ‘acting strange?’”

“I forgot my own name yesterday,” he said.

“You what.”

“I remembered too much of one life and not enough of the other. There’s a good chance my mind is…fractured. Broken into shards. I may not be as trustworthy as I want to be. And I have…memory holes. Bad ones. I can use Essence, but I still know next to nothing about the practical use of kan. I can’t remember my best friend’s face—or, no, I remember too many faces that were all his—but I know one of them was his original face, and yet. I can’t remember which one. I can’t remember any times I spent with Gassandrid, but I know less about…Tal-something. I can’t even hold his name in my mind. I’m—”

The door swung open, and Thane and Ellian walked in. Ellian’s eyes were red, but he looked more angry than upset, and it wasn’t Kaladin’s place to ask anyway. The kid shot a venomous glare at Thane and stormed over to the table. “Keep talking,” he gritted out. 

Kaladin handed Ellian his fistful of bread.

“So,” said Kaladin. “I was at…the Tributary. Trapped. Right. Well.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I wake up, unable to move, in something called a Tributary. It steals Essence. I was…it was awful. And I was Kaladin, then. And it was—”

“You were Kaladin?” asked Thane. “Not…are Kaladin?”

“It’s complicated,” he said again. “And I don’t really know the answer to that myself. I…let me get back to telling it, and then we can talk semantics. Um. I was Kaladin, and I was confused, and it was for…maybe a few months at the most. I wasn’t there most of the time, but in something called a dok’en. The one I was in was breaking down. In a last-ditch effort to preserve it, Cyr, or whoever else made it, bound it to itself so it was more of a prison than anything else. I was going insane. Six months at the most. Cyr would have been there at least a thousand years. If my math is right.”

They stared at him, and then Kor’ad made a noise. “You think you broke,” he breathed. “Kaladin, that’s awful.”

“I…” said Kaladin. “I don’t know. I might have dreamed the whole thing. All the betrayals. It mirrored reality in a way. But I might have…done something else. I could be actually Kaladin, somehow dragged here in some way by a man who wanted nothing more than an out. I might have broken my mind with kan, and if I did that there’s no guarantee I won’t shatter again if stressed the wrong way. I might still be hallucinating, dreaming a life that never was. Or someone else could have…”

He stopped. Fates, there was a thought. He realized something, a half-formed thought bubbling to his lips faster than his mind could properly conceive of it.

“Someone else could have _what_?” Thane asked. 

“He could have broken me before he trapped me,” Kaladin whispered. His nails dug gouges into the flesh of his palms under the table. “It could explain why I can’t remember him.”

“Who?” 

“I don’t _know_!” Kaladin said. “The one with Licanius!”

Thane’s eyebrows shot to the center of her forehead. “Andrael?”

“No. No, I know Andrael. Someone killed Andrael. Takarmalar?”

“Tal’kamar?”

“Him. Yeah.”

Kor’ad barked a harsh laugh. “I should have known Lord Tal was a fates-cursed traitor,” he said. 

“You’re a fates-cursed traitor, too,” Jandel cut in.

“Not to my friends and family I’m damn well not,” Kor’ad said.

“I don’t know if we were friends,” said Cyr. “And Andrael was…deranged, at the end. Wanted to kill us all, and himself. But now I find myself wondering…”

He looked down. Put his shaking hands flat on the table. “This is just speculation. I don’t know. But it seems to be getting worse.”

“Worse,” Ellian said flatly. “Define worse.”

“I was mostly integrated with the fractured bits of Cyr that was filtering into Kaladin,” he explained. “And now I’m Cyr, and sometimes Kaladin. And at least I know I’m one person, but I can’t…Cyr’s memories are coming back, and I can’t reconcile them with the person that I thought I was.”

“What do you—”

“Senseless slaughter. Entire cities laid at my feet in ruins,” he said. “A war of unimaginable scale. To end all evils, but with an evil of that sort, is it even worthwhile?”

“What are you talking about?”

Kaladin smiled weakly. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I haven’t got any idea.”


	48. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellian and Kaladin really kind of needed this sort of heart-to-heart. Featuring Kaladin-Cyr the Bad Memory Man with Too Many Names for himself to keep track of, and Ellian, who sort of defies description

Ellian didn’t even give Kaladin a chance to collect himself or answer any more questions. 

“So. That’s it?” he said. 

Cyr nodded. 

“Come outside with me.”

“Do we have to play with your damn dog again?” 

“We?”

“I. Me. And you. Am I going to have to play with your dog? I’m still bruised from yesterday.”

“Oh,” said Ellian. “No. That… I need to talk to you. To someone. About yesterday.”

Kaladin tried not to look visibly apprehensive. “Oh?”

“It’s not about you,” Ellian said quickly, and Kaladin tried not to look as relieved as he felt, because he _didn’t_ look worried. Not at all. Jandel snorted from across the table.

“Right,” said Kaladin. “Then what?”

“Then you come outside,” said Ellian, “and I tell you that there.”

“Slick—” Thane said. 

Ellian’s eyes widened with some expression too fleeting for Kaladin to put a name to before he fell back into his standard scowl. “I can’t talk to you. Not about this.”

“I think I know a way to help it finish,” she said quietly. 

“I don’t want it to,” said Ellian.

Kaladin was about as lost as he could possibly be. “What—”

“Outside,” Ellian said. 

Kaladin nodded. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

* * *

Ellian and his damnable dog were sitting and waiting for Kaladin in the barren courtyard behind the inn when he finally found them. 

“Took you a fair sight longer than five minutes,” Ellian said. 

“Took me a while to figure out where you were,” said Cyr, “seeing as you didn’t feel the need to tell me where to be.”

Ellian shrugged. “I was hiding from Thane.”

Cyr blinked. “She’s good at finding people.”

“Oh, no, she knew where I was hiding,” Ellian clarified. “But she knew I was hiding because I didn’t tell anyone, so she would leave me alone. Mark of a decent Augur, they pay attention to these things.”

Cyr nodded again. “Makes sense, I suppose. So what…” he stopped. Maybe he didn’t want to jump right into that. 

“What do I need to talk to you about?” Ellian asked. “Oh. It’s…um. Ant.”

_What_? “I thought you didn’t like to talk about it.”

To Cyr’s horror, Ellian’s eyes began to brim with tears. “No no no no no,” Cyr said. “It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t cry, it’s all going to be okay…”

“I’m not _trying to_ cry!” Ellian said, crying harder, smacking Cyr’s hand away from his shoulder. 

_Cyr’s hand. Fates. It’s my hand. Kaladin’s hand._

Ellian quit crying, thank Jezerezeh. He scrubbed at his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“Say…what?” And then, because he couldn’t help it, “I thought I was done with that two _weeks_ ago…”

“Done with what?”

“Um,” Kaladin said eloquently. “So. I was in a box, right? And inside of that, I was in a dok’en. Both of that was a sort of prison.”

Ellian nodded. “So what does that have to do with this?”

“I stopped drawing a line between my head and reality,” he said softly. “I would say anything that I thought. It was…it was a kind of torture all to itself. A complete lack of privacy in any way, no matter what the people around me actually meant to do. I really damn well hope it isn’t coming back.”

Ellian blinked. “No, not that. You said…”

“Wait,” said Kaladin. “Before anything else. It _is_ ‘he,’ today, right? I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone.”

“Yeah,” said Ellian. “He. Thanks, Kal. Er. I mean, Kaladin.”

“No problem,” said Kaladin. 

“Wait,” said Ellian. “How long did the…thinking out loud thing last?”

Kaladin thought about it. “Probably a week.”

Ellian stared at him. 

“What?”

“You made it sound like you’ve been here. But if that’s right…Fates,” Ellian said, counting on his fingers. “Then you’ve only been in Andarra for a month.”

“I’ve only been in Andarra for about a week, actually,” Kaladin corrected. “I spent most of my time recuperating.”

Ellian kept staring at him. “Recuperating.”

“Yes. Recuperating.”

“From _torture_. Fates, Kaladin—”

“Look,” Kaladin said. “What do you need me to not say?”

“Um. Don’t say that everything’s going to be okay. Please. It’s not.”

“What if it is, though?”

“It’s _not_ ,” Ellian repeated. “Nothing good has ever happened after someone told me that. Don’t say it. Please.”

“Alright,” Kaladin said. “I’ll keep that in mind. And…um…what did you want to talk about?”

“I,” said Ellian. “I’ve been remembering. Things I don’t want to remember. I need…someone who wasn’t there. To talk to. Someone who…doesn’t remember. Doesn’t know.”

“I don’t know how helpful I can be,” Kaladin said. 

“Just,” said Ellian, ”please, just listen to me.”

Kaladin nodded solemnly, and Ellian started to speak. 

“I thought I hadn’t been able to find him,” Ellian said dully. “I thought I was too afraid to go poking around an Administrator’s quarters, and I blamed myself for it. But I didn’t really remember that week too well. I tried to…ignore it, I guess. Pretend it never happened, or something. I…um.”

He stopped for breath. 

“Me and Red staked out Administrator Selvis, may he burn in agonizing torment for eternity, and we waited for him to leave his rooms so I could sneak in. And I did.” 

He stopped again. _Fates…_

“I saw—”

Kaladin tried not to look as horrified as he felt. _He found his own brother’s corpse? Like that?_

“Don’t make that face, Kaladin, Ant was alive. He yelled at me to leave, and I. Fates take me, I left. I left him there. Next day I came back with water, and then after that—”

Ellian stopped for a long time. Kaladin handed him one of the tiny yellow candies in his pocket, and Ellian fiddled with it, but didn’t eat it. Finally, he took back up the story.

“The third time I snuck in, me and Red were going to get him out. Rescue Ant. And it was…it could have worked, if that worthless bastard Maron—”

“Maroon?”

“Yeah, that’s where Red’s nickname came from. Maron kind of sounds like maroon. Stop interrupting me.”

Kaladin nodded, but didn’t say anything. 

“Maron was caught by one of the Administrators. Not Selvis, thank the Fates. Someone else. I don’t know who.he kicked me a few times, locked the two of us in a room together, and beat Ant up worse.” 

Kaladin’s eyes must have widened, or something. He didn’t say anything. Seriously, he didn’t.

“—of course I escaped! I’m good at that. Honestly, who do you think I am?”

“A kid,” Kaladin said darkly.

“Anyway, I escaped. Yes, the room was locked. I can pick locks.”

“You—” 

“Look,” Ellian said, fiddling with his sleeve. Two black wires, one bent and one straight, fell out of a thin strip in the seam. “—see, I have lockpicks.”

Kaladin opened his mouth—

“—yes, it’s a good skill for me to have, if you have a problem with that go bug Thane. It let me out, you know? Fates, calm down, you look like you’re about to kill someone.”

“I’ll kill that Administrator,” Kaladin said,

“You can’t kill Selvis, he’s dead. Thane did it. Anyway, stop _interrupting_ me. So I escaped the room, and I found Ant.”

Kaladin tried not to look scared. He was…fates. This story was. A lot. 

“Ant was still alive. Stop it, Kaladin. This isn’t easy for anyone, stop looking like you’re about to stop sobbing on the floor. So I get Ant, and I get us the hell out. And I can swear someone’s following me.”

“And then,” Ellian said, “it gets weird.”

_That doesn’t sound good_. 

“So I _knew_ there was someone behind us, following us, right? But then I…”

Ellian broke down, crying loudly on the ground. _Storms storms storms storms storms_. He reached out a hand—

“Don’t!” Ellian yelled, tears rolling down his face and mixing with the mud. Kaladin jerked his hand away from Ellian’s shoulder. “Don’t do that! _Don’t_!”

“I…” said Kaladin. “I’m sorry, Ellian. Don’t cry, it’s—” he stopped. _Don’t say its going to be okay. He doesn’t want that._

Ellian turned away, mouthing something. He stopped crying, and—if Kaladin’s guess was right—this was solely because Ellian was holding his breath. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. 

Kaladin, not for the first time, was struck by how _small_ Ellian was. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything, you know,” Kaladin said softly. 

“I have to tell _someone_ ,” Ellian said. “So I don’t forget. So you know.” He looked down at the dirt. “So it doesn’t…so I don’t do it again.”

_Do it again. Fates, that sounded really storming bad._

“Do…”

“Let me tell the damn story, will you?” Ellian shrieked. “I found Ant. We were in a forest. Someone was tailing us. And then I just. Knew that we were alone. But we weren’t. That’s the thing. We weren’t alone. Someone could have stood in front of me and hit me in the face and I still would have thought we were alone. There wasn’t anything that I could do to not think Ant and I were the only one there.”

_That is strange,_ Kaladin thought.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and for a moment he looked like he were carved from stone. Then the moment passed, and he started to weep. “And I, I,” he said haltingly, “I stabbed Ant. Through the eye. I didn’t want to, but I, couldn’t, stop, myself…”

_That sounds an awful lot like Control_ , Kaladin thought. The idea lanced through his mind like ice. But Ellian kept talking, so Kaladin kept it to himself.

“And then I was…I was frozen. I couldn’t move. And he, he, he said,” Ellian took a shaky breath, rubbing at his eyes fruitlessly, “he told me that everything was going, to be, _to be okay_!”

_Fates…_

“And then!” Ellian yelled. “Then there was Selvis! Like out of nowhere! And I remembered thinking someone was there, and he…I didn’t do anything, and he used the Fourth on me to keep me from moving, and he kicked me until my ribs broke like I was some sort of, of, of El-cursed _dog._ Rat bastard, may he suffer in eternal torment. Then Thane got there, with her boots, like a blaze of light in the darkness, and she knocked him away from me and held him to the ground with her staff at his throat, and she forced him to undo the binding, and then she turned me around and told me to watch and she _stabbed_ him. And I felt glad about it. And then…I remembered that part. That part I knew. And then that night I went to get my things and then that next day to leave, and Maron tried to stop me, and I pushed him off of the bridge, and—”

“You _what_.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, exactly,” Ellian said. 

“Fair enough,” said Kaladin. “I can’t exactly blame you. Storms, that’s a lot for a kid to handle.”

“I didn’t remember most of it, I don’t think,” Ellian said. “He might have been genuinely worried about me. Not that I much care. It was his El-cursed fault.”

They sat in what amounted to silence but was more like the sound of outside and occasionally a choked breath of not-quite-crying. 

Kaladin finished fitting the pieces he had of this storming jigsaw puzzle together, and started to consider what he knew. He turned the thought he had over in his mind a couple of times. No matter how he looked at it, there was nothing good here.

“Ellian,” said Kaladin slowly, barely wanting to break the silence, “was Selvis an Augur?”

Ellian blinked, looking up tearfully. “Was Selvis _what_?”

Kaladin tried not to fidget. “That, what you just said, it sounds a lot like something…something I know of, but can’t use. It’s called Control,” Kaladin said. “And it’s an Augur’s ability.”

Ellian shook his head. “Selvis was a zealot,” he said. “Who would have seen all Augurs dead. He couldn’t be one.”

“And Thane told you that?”

“No,” said Ellian. “I knew it for myself. Thane was the one that killed the son of a dog, Kaladin. What are you trying to say, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Kaladin said. “I just…that. That sounds like Control. And I want to know why.”

“The old Augurs were evil, weren’t they? What if it was one of them?”

“I don’t know what the old Augurs were like, Ellian.” Kaladin picked up a pebble, turned it over in his hands, and set it down again. “I’ve only been here for a month.”

“They didn’t care about people,” said Ellian. “They cared about order. And they cared about power. So when the Administration tells it, the Augurs let the Gifted do anything. But we, the Gifted, I mean, we aren’t evil. So it must have been the Augurs, right? They must have been evil?”

Kaladin closed his eyes. “I’m not really qualified to answer that, Elli. All I know is that it sounds like Control, and Thane, an Augur, was there. But she wouldn’t do something like that, I don’t think.”

“She wouldn’t,” Ellian asserted firmly.

“But that means there was another Augur, someone who wasn’t Thane, who was there,” Kaladin said. Remembered some things from earlier. Started to put some pieces together. “And I think…”

“You think _what.”_

_“_ I think Thane knows who it was,” Kaladin said. 


	49. Confrontation

“Thane!” Ellian shouted, throwing open the door to the inn. The entire common room turned to look at them quizzically. 

“Ellian what are you—”

Ellian stormed into the hallway. “Thane!” 

Kaladin tried to avoid the eyes of the people dining. Someone—an older person with a half-empty glass of something yellow and alcoholic—tapped him on the arm anyway. “That’s yer brother?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Kaladin said. 

“Tell yer ma that she oughta raise you kids better,” they drawled, and then smiled. “Good luck, kiddo.”

“Luck with what?” he tried to ask, but the stranger pushed him towards the hallway after Ellian without another word. When Kaladin turned around again, they were gone. 

_Weird._

Kaladin heard Ellian yell “Thane!” again from somewhere, the noise vaguely muffled by what sounded like the door to a room, or perhaps a wall. Fates. Fates fates fates, that couldn’t be their rooms. Had he just—

“Ellian, what do you want?” someone said from directly behind Kaladin. He turned.

It wasn’t Thane. 

But…wait. They had the Boots. 

“…Thane?” Kaladin asked.

“Yep. What’s Ellian doing?”

Cyr took a deep breath. “His memories are coming back, and we have…questions for you.”

Thane nodded. It was kind of weird that she looked so different, but acted the same. 

“I know,” she said. “But he has to work the block all the way through before I can be of any help.”

“Thane!” Ellian said.

“Why were you in someone else’s room?” Cyr asked, turning to look at the kid. 

“Felt like it,” Ellian said. 

“Ellian…” Thane said. 

“I knew you would figure it out, anyway,” said Ellian. “So no harm, no foul, right?”

“That was the young couple from Talmiel, wasn’t it?” Thane said. “Did you steal their—”

“Yes,” Ellian said, a sharp grin on his face. “They didn’t need ‘em.”

“You stole _what_?”

Ellian opened his hands to reveal three small, round orange fruits. “Apricots.”

Cyr thought of something else. “…where did you get those candies, yesterday?”

“Jandel.”

“Did he _give_ them to you?”

“Of course not,” Ellian said. “That doesn’t mean they’re not mine now.”

“Were you unaware of the fact that your adopted baby brother is an incurable felon?” Thane asked, smirking. 

“He’s not my brother!” Ellian said. 

“I didn’t adopt him!” Cyr insisted. 

They both glanced at each other. Then back at Thane, who was shaking with silent laughter. 

“What’s your name right now?” Ellian asked suddenly. 

Cyr almost responded, and then heard the sound on his own tongue. “Fates.”

“Fates?”

“It’s Kaladin. I know that. But,” Kaladin said, “I keep slipping.”

Thane looked genuinely concerned for about a half second, before going back to her standard setting of arrogant with a dash of sharp amusement. “You two are el-cursed perfect for each other, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“One of you can’t even remember his fates-cursed name half the time, and the other can’t remember his own brother. Fates, it’s so damned perfect. The symmetry is killing me.”

“The—”

“Brother with no name, and brother without his brother’s name. Fates, this is pure storybook. I can’t believe this.”

Ellian threw an apricot at her. 

“I suppose I deserved that,” she said, catching it after it bounced off of her forehead. “But I’m keeping this now.”

“Whatever,” Ellian said. “It’s not even mine.”

“So what did you want?” Thane asked, biting into the small fruit. 

Ellian took a half-step forwards, coming to stand directly beside Kaladin. “We have some questions.”

* * *

“So,” said Thane. “What I can make of this sounds like you’re working through a set of blocked memories.”

“Yes,” said Ellian. 

“Which I knew since this morning.”

“Yes,” said Ellian again. 

“Because you already told me,” she said. “Which is when both of us found out that they were blocked artificially.”

“What are you getting at?” Ellian asked. 

“I don’t know how to help you without breaking the block!” she said, smacking the table. “Which I told you earlier.”

“We have _questions_ ,” Ellian stressed. “You were _there_.”

“I—”

“You know the details of what _I_ dealt with now,” Ellian said. “Kaladin said it sounded like Control.”

“That’s because it _does_ sound like Control,” Thane said. “But I can’t help you, because I don’t _remember it either_!”

There was a long pause.

“What do you mean by that?” Kaladin eventually asked. 

“Ellian said,” said Thane, “and Ellian’s memory confirmed, that Ellian had had a knife in his one hand when I found him and Selvis. I don’t remember that. That seems like a big detail to overlook. And therefore, _both_ of our memories are suspect until the rest of the block is broken.”

Ellian stared at her.

“Look,” she said, gentling her tone, “there’s nothing I can do about it. We have to know—”

“Have you tried to find a block in your own mind?” Kaladin interjected.

“It’s dangerous to use kan on your own mind,” Thane said. “So no. I have not.”

“What if you’ve also got one?” Ellian said. 

“Augurs usually can’t Control other Augurs easily,” Thane said. “So it’s unlikely.”

“But possible,” Ellian said. 

Thane grimaced. “Possible, yes, but not any more likely.”

Kaladin interjected before they could keep talking. “I have an idea.”

“What do you possibly want to do?” Thane asked, shooting him a glare. 

“Tell me how to Read people with kan, and then let me read the way you find the blocked memories.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It seems like a good—”

“I will not have one of the _el-cursed Venerate_ rooting around in my head!” she hissed. “I have _heard things_. Can I even keep you out of my thoughts if I want them hidden?”

Kaladin leaned back. Thane looked like she was ready to jump over the table and tear his throat out. “From what I can remember, there’s a sort of, of locked box in people’s minds. And I don’t want to go in there or something bad will happen. I don’t remember it all that clearly, but I mean… someone was talking me through Reading people, but I don’t remember much, and I haven’t tried it on anyone, so I don’t have any idea if it will work. If that’s what you’re talking about, it should keep me out.”

Thane narrowed her eyes. “Let me read you first, then.”

Kaladin shrugged. “I mean. Okay?”

Thane blinked. 

“Well?”

“I didn’t think you would _agree_!” Thane said. 

Ellian stifled a laugh. 

“In any case,” Kaladin said, “I did. Come on.”

* * *

At first, Thane didn’t even recognize Kaladin’s mindscape as a mind at all. 

Her instructors in the Truthguards’ ranks had had ordered, cleanly organized thoughts in such a way that it reminded her of a bookshelf. Regular people had thoughts in patterns that looked like blobs of paint that had been mixed with water. 

The only way she could possibly describe Kaladin’s thoughts would be if…if someone took a mirror, and broke it, and then reflected in pieces of each shard different scenes from different people’s minds. To her metaphysical left was the neatest set of perfect little boxes of thoughts she had ever seen in her life. Almost touching it was a roiling, chaotic mess. All throughout it, there were deep, pitch-dark cracks, and she knew that they were not only holes in the things she could see, but his mind itself, as though something had broken and there wasn’t enough of him left to fill the spaces. The boundary keeping all of these things separated was nothing but a thin, shifting line of damaged kan, and she didn’t want to touch it for fear of what it might do to her. 

And it was really, really el-cursed cold. She was hardly even skimming the surface of his mind, but already her mind felt stiff and frozen and in unutterable pain. That cold…damn. He _lived_ with that?

She tried to feel around to see his abilities with kan; she came up against a line of kan instead, and tried to move around it and stuck her mental fingers in the wrong memory. 

_“I’d call us the Seri’i Alhys,” Thane said. The foreign words somehow translated themselves in her head, despite the fact that they were in a language she’d never heard or heard of. ‘The Keepers of Truth.’_

_“That is a good name, Lord Cyr,” said the dark-haired woman sitting across from Thane. This, too, was said in a language she didn’t recognize, and her ears and her mind told her two different things. Somehow, Thane knew her name was Aelan Dengal, and she was from the Shining Lands. This memory had to be ancient, and it was an etymological and archaeological treasure, if she wasn’t mistaken. “I like it.”_

_“Thank you, Aelan,” Thane said. “Now, we should start by cataloging the Library of Alarais Shar, if I do say so myself.”_

_Aelan nodded and left the room._

The memory ended and Thane fell back into herself. 

“What’s Seri’i Alhys?” Thane asked Kaladin, keeping a tendril of herself in his mind to measure his reaction. 

“I don’t know,” he said, and didn’t lie. Something felt off about that, though.

“Are you—”

“Have you found anything about kan?” Kaladin cut in. “Can you teach me to Read people, and let me Read you? Have you made a _decision_ yet?”

“I—” said Thane. “I don’t know.”

Ellian handed Kaladin the last apricot—he must have eaten the other while Thane was digging around in Kaladin’s head.

Kaladin didn’t say anything. He slowly put the apricot down on the table. 

“Are you alright?” Thane asked. 

“What did you see?” Kaladin asked softly.

“It was you and a woman named Aelan talking,” she said. “Nothing more.”

His shoulders slumped, and she suddenly realized that he had been wound as tense as a coil of rope on a ship in a storm. “Okay. Okay, good. Right.”

_What in fates has he done that he’s so worried about me finding out about? That whole ‘city at my feet’ business?_

“So,” said Ellian, stepping on top of Kaladin so that he could lean over the table in a way he probably thought was threatening and came over as somewhere between pathetic and hilarious, “make a damn choice, Thane.”

* * *

“No,” said Thane later. 

“No?”

“No,” she repeated. “You don’t get to Read me. I don’t trust you to.”

Kaladin shrugged. “I just wanted to—”

“You’re Venerate. So the answer, no matter what, is _no_ ,” she said again. “I don’t know what you can or can’t do, but I want my mind to myself, thanks.”

_I can understand that._

“It’s your choice,” Kaladin said. “What are you planning, then?”

“In Ilin Ilan,” said Thane, “I can use some Vessels to remove the block. I think it may have been related to the Tenets, too. So, in the interest of _safety_ ,” she stressed, “for my own safety and privacy, I would like to not have a _Venerate_ with no sense of control over Kan trying to play around with the inside of my head.”

Kaladin nodded again, and turned back to his room. Behind him, he heard Thane do the same. For a second she was tapping her heels on the ground; then there was a sound like a gust of wind, and when he turned around again she was gone.


	50. Concealment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i swear this is not the end.
> 
> and by that, i mean PEN-AND-SWORD IT CAN AND WILL STILL GET WORSE YOU'RE NOT OFF THE HOOK

Shen swept up the last of the broken ceramic plates and washed up the spilled water that had come out of the cups when she had dropped everything she had been holding. That done, she ignored her job for the time being and went to deal with something far more pressing.

She pulled out a small hand-mirror from the pocket in her skirt, funneled some of the Essence she had stored in a jewel set on her finger into it, and connected to Thane’s matching one.

She saw a ceiling, and then the shape-shifting Augur came into view. “Shen?”

“Thane!” Shen said. “You’re never going to _believe_ what just happened.”

* * *

Ellian sat down outside on the wall dividing the courtyard of the inn from the rest of the walled town’s buildings and stared at the great burning disk of the setting sun. Birds flew. Clouds dragged themselves limply across the sky. Grass rustled. Wind moved. 

Ellian told himself he was here to watch the sunset. That would be a lie. He was here because he was exhausted. He was here because he needed space. He was here because…because…

He was here because he didn’t have the energy to get up and go inside. And that was it. 

Fates, he felt awful. Everything hurt. His fingers burned with cold, and so did his toes, and every other part of him besides. One of his legs had pins and needles from being pressed awkwardly up against the corner of the brick wall, but he was too exhausted to move it. A scrape on the back of his knuckles refused to stop stinging. His thoughts were slow and sluggish, and they hurt too, so he didn’t think. He just stared into the reddening sun until it turned blue and black and burned his vision dull. He stared until the first black clouds bit into it, and then it vanished weakly over the mountains. The stars started to appear behind the blotches in his vision, and then the blotch was gone and he could see that the sky was a different color, that it was pitch-dark. The moon was nearly overhead. He could hardly move his fingers, they were so cold and stiff. 

He blinked. A strange noise had occurred, like the click of metal on glass. Was he hearing things, now?

Something _bright_ was behind him. 

Ellian turned. 

There was a glowing man standing behind him. 

The man was semi-transparent, faintly blue-tinged, and ghostly. His shirt was a ragged mess. His bare feet had grass and pebbles poking through them, because he apparently was _sunk,_ ever so slightly, into the ground. He had a mess of slightly grown-out, curly hair that looked like it needed a trim. He could have used a shave, too. 

He was missing his left eye. 

The man’s expression was hard to parse out at first, but when he saw Ellian, he broke into a smile that almost screamed _hasn’t been used in a while_. Ellian fought the urge to take a step back because he didn’t want to fall off of the wall. 

“Ellian?” the man rasped. His voice was tinny, as though it were coming from far away.

Ellian scrambled back and fell off the wall into another yard. His ice-cold elbows slammed down hard on the dirt, and when he pushed himself back up a feeling like a line of fire was trailing down the back of his arm. He touched his other numbed fingers to it, and the burning feeling spread to his fingers. Great. He was bleeding. 

“Ellian?” the transparent person said again. “Is this the wrong place?”

That weird, echoing click sounded again, and then the light from the other side of the wall vanished.

Ellian bit his lip and climbed back up the wall. 

_What in fates. Am I hallucinating now? Perfect. What a great way for this day to fates-cursed end._

* * *

Ellian was just making it to the top of the wall when the click happened again, and the glowing man was suddenly back. He appeared in the same way that a reflection would make itself clear in the surface of water that had been disturbed and left to settle. 

This time, he was leaning forwards, as if fiddling with something that Ellian couldn’t see. He straightened up almost immediately. 

“Ellian!” he said. “Wait—stop, don’t fall over, you’ll hurt yourself!”

Ellian blinked. He hadn’t fallen over, though his fingers were so cold and stiff he couldn’t grab the wall properly. “What in storms.”

“What?” the glowing man asked. “Wait. Come down off of the wall, you could get hurt.”

Ellian blinked. “What? Fine. Fine.” He got his other foot up, and jumped down. He landed awkwardly, and rolled to a stop on the hard dirt. The glowing man gaped at him in horror.

“Ellian—”

Ellian sat up, using the light that the man put off to examine what happened when he fell off the wall before. His elbow looked like it had dirt and blood crusted in it. Lovely. He had to clean it out before he could heal that, or it might seal the dirt inside his arm, and that would suck.

“I,” said the man. “Are you bleeding?”

“Yes,” said Ellian. “No big deal.”

“No big _deal_? You just fell off an eight foot wall and promptly _did it again_! Sly, you’ll _get hurt!_ ”

Ellian stopped breathing. “What did you just call me?”

The man shrugged. “Sly? I mean. If you don’t like that, I can stop—”

“There has been exactly one person in my life who called me that,” Ellian said, suddenly boiling with pent-up emotions too complicated to be called fury and yet in that same vein. “And they’re dead now. Who in the hell are _you_ to come here, to say that, _to me_?”

The glowing man suddenly looked extremely confused, but Ellian plowed on. “Oh, yeah, memory block this, memory block that. This is a goddamn hallucination, isn’t it. Caused by the goddamn memory block. Maybe I should go inside and have Kaladin try and crack my mind open! Or I could have Kor’ad throw me across a room. Maybe if I hit my head hard enough, you’ll go away! I _don’t want to see you!”_

The hallucination of a glowing man stopped with his mouth half open. “Ellian, what in fates are you talking about?”

“This. You. Me. Seeing ghosts. God, the last thing I need is this. My head is broken enough. Hey, do you think it was the concussion from a couple days ago that made you appear, or do you think it was—”

“ _Ellian what in fates, why did you have a concussion—_ ”

“You’re supposed to be Ant, aren’t you?” Ellian cut the hallucination off.

“I…yes? But Sly—”

“Shut up shut up shut up don’t talk when I’m talking,” Ellian said levelly. The hallucination of Ant snapped his mouth shut. 

“You’ve been spending time with Thane,” he said.

“Shut up,” Ellian suggested again. “I’m talking. Shut up. Anyway. Why are you older?”

Ant stared at him. 

“Why are you _older_ than you _were_?” Ellian repeated. 

Ant kept staring at him. “That’s what happens when people exist,” the hallucination said. “I mean. That’s not that hard to figure out.”

There was a silence of about thirty seconds, and then they both immediately started speaking at the same time. Ant stopped and let Ellian go on, looking nervously behind him at the inn. Or something else. Ellian didn’t know. Hallucinations weren’t exactly rational, after all.

“You’re not real,” Ellian said softly. “You’re not really here.”

Ant shrugged. “I’m not really here. But that doesn’t make it not real.”

_Fates. He was fucking crazy._


	51. Confutation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm running out of words that start with con- to start the chapter titles for this arc, lmao. This chapter features: some more answers on the Ghost vs Hallucination debate! (The answer may surprise you!)

Ellian was in the middle of eating breakfast in his room when the hallucination of Ant reappeared. 

Ellian threw a piece of bacon at him. “Why are you back?”

Ant gaped at her. “Did you just throw a hard boiled egg through my chest?”

“Yes,” Ellian said. 

“Huh,” said Ant.

“So,” said Ellian, “why in the fates are you back?”

Ant shrugged. “I mean…why can’t I be?”

Ellian blinked at him slowly. 

“Seriously!” Ant said. “Why wouldn’t I come back?”

“Because you’re a stress hallucination created by me remembering that I stabbed you,” Ellian said, her voice far more even than it should, by rights, have been. 

Ant blinked, and then tapped his eye-patch. “It was a while ago. No big deal.”

 _“No big deal_? Is that why I made you look older? So I could try and convince myself of that? It’s a very big deal.”

Ant looked at her quizzically. “You didn’t make me look older,” he said. “I just. Got older.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Ant suddenly whirled around, and then turned back. “I’ll be back,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t go anywhere.”

And with that, he vanished. 

Ellian blinked at that, and then went back to her breakfast. 

She had bitten into the second boiled egg when the click that seemed to herald Ant’s appearance happened _again_. 

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” she said, not even bothering to look up. He wasn’t really there. He wasn’t real. He was _dead_. And nothing Ellian could do would fix that. Why would she bother to interact with her delusion, then?

“I told you I would,” Not-Ant said. 

Ellian didn’t respond. 

“Ellian?”

“Delusion?”

“What?”

“Delusion,” Ellian said again.

“Do you mean _me_?” Not-Ant asked. 

“Yes,” Ellian said. 

“I swear I’m _not_ ,” Not-Ant said. “Are you alright?”

In fact, Ellian was crying, but there was no way she was going to tell anyone that, even if it was just a figment of her imagination. “Storm off.”

“What? No, Ellian, look at me. I’m real. I swear.”

“That’s exactly what a hallucination _would_ say,” Ellian shot back. Ant groaned. 

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time,” her not-brother said tersely. “What in fates are you doing?”

“Eating my breakfast and waiting for you to vanish again,” Ellian said. 

“You—” Not-Ant said, and then stopped. His voice was sharp and brittle as broken glass when he went back to speaking, and laced with a venom that Ellian had never heard from him before. “Look, I have things that I need to be doing, and places that I need to be. For my own safety as well as yours.”

Ellian tried not to roll her eyes. “Delusion. You aren’t actually doing anything.”

Not-Ant didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Ellian made the mistake of glancing up and looking at him. Ant was staring at the wall _again_. He took a step away from where he had been. 

“Don’t walk through my wall,” Ellian said.

 _“You can still see me_?” Ant asked incredulously.

“Yes?”

“Wonderful,” Ant said. “Fates-damned perfect. I’ll…that helps. Fates. Tell me if you see anyone else.”

“Tell a delusion about being more—”

“I don’t feel like playing this game right now,” Ant snapped, voice low all of a sudden. “Just tell me if you _see anyone else_.”

With that, Ant took a few steps to the left, squatted down on the floor, and made a motion almost as though he had pulled something invisible shut in front of him. 

“I can still see you,” Ellian said. 

Ant nodded, but didn’t respond. 

“I can’t see anyone else.”

Another nod, and then Ant held his finger to his lips. 

“Oh, really, _you_ get to tell _me_ to shut up?”

Ant put a hand over his eye. He looked frustrated as all hell.

He suddenly tensed in what looked like it could have been any number of emotions for a split second. And then he lurched forwards suddenly, and unnaturally, almost like some unseen hand had grabbed his ragged shirt and yanked him by it—the click sounded—and the hallucination of his dead brother was gone.

This was almost frustrating enough to make Ellian lose her appetite. But Ilin Ilan had taught her that food wasn’t always as plentiful as it seemed, and she ate it all anyway. Hallucination or no hallucination, she wasn’t going to starve half to death again. 

* * *

Ant reappeared later that night. There was what looked like a bruise on his face.

“Hello, Ellian,” he said. “Where’s Thane?”

“Not here,” said Ellian. 

“I need her real name,” Ant said. 

“You don’t,” said Ellian. “Because you’re dead.”

Ant stared at her. “What?”

“You’re not here. You’re not real. You _died._ ”

Ant looked ready to murder someone. “That two-faced daughter of a whore and a pig,” he growled, and completely vanished. 

_That wasn’t weird at all_. 

Ellian went back to trying to sleep. 

Unfortunately for her, Ant—and more importantly, his fates-cursed _eyeball-piercing glow_ , came back a short while later. 

“So,” said Ant. “It sounds like you were not informed that I am not dead.”

Ellian tried to cover her face with the pillow. “That’s because you _are_ dead. Where’s Kaladin?”

“Who?”

“Kaladin. We’re supposed to be sharing a room.”

“You’re definitely the only person here,” Ant said. “Do you call this Kaladin a delusion to their face, too?”

“Kaladin’s real,” Ellian said defensively. “He gave me stale bread once. I’d like to see you do so much as that.”

Ant sighed. “I can’t interact with anything in the room, because I’m _not there_ ,” he said, and then muttered something under his breath that Ellian didn’t hear.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said,” Ant glared, raising his voice for the first time that Ellian could remember the delusion doing, “that if even my little brother doesn’t believe I exist, then I guess I just better give up and die already, huh?”

“Sister.”

“What?”

“It’s sister, today. You should know that, considering you’re a delusion—”

“Fine. Little sister. Ugh.”

The door to the room opened. “Ellian, who are you— _Syl?_ ” He stopped short, blinked, and looked again. “Wait. No. What…?”

“Hello,” said Ant.

“What in storms,” Kaladin muttered. “Hello.”

“ _You can see it_?” asked Ellian. 

“Yes,” said Kaladin. “What the hell _is_ it?”

“I have no idea,” Ellian said. “I figured I was hallucinating—”

“ _I’ll_ explain,” Ant said. “If you call me an el-cursed hallucination or a, a damn delusion _one more time,_ I swear, I’ll rip off my own ear. My name is Vantos Hill,” he said to Kaladin. “I’m using a Vessel to try and call for help. Thane was supposed to tell you that, and I honestly might kill her, because she obviously hasn’t. I’m in Ilin Ilan, and I need help. Rescuing, you know? I’ve been held prisoner for a very long time under the influence of the Fourth.”

 _What?_

“That’s the mind-control Tenet, right?” Kaladin asked Ellian. 

“Yeah,” Ellian said. 

“That’s pretty awful,” Kaladin said to Ant. “You were kidnapped by…wait.”

“What?”

“Were you kidnapped by an Augur with Administrators under their Control, or just an Administrator?”

_What? This doesn’t make any sense. I watched him die._

Ant blinked. “Sin helped them, yeah.” 

“Who?”

“An Augur called Sin—a Control specialist—used to work with the Keepers of the Words, but Shen killed him a while back. He’s the one that Controlled the Administrators, but there are other Administrators involved with the Keepers.”

_What…_

“You’re actually alive?” Ellian blurted out. “For real?”

“Yes!” Ant said. “I am! I’ve _been_!”

“Fates, I’m so sorry,” Ellian said.

“You said you _remembered_ ,” Ant said, accusation dripping from his every word. “You don’t remember Sin forcing you and Thane to _leave me bleeding in the middle of the damn forest?_ ”

_Oh, fates._

Kaladin cut into the conversation. “We didn’t finish breaking the memory block. He didn’t want us to. He had to deal with enough with the stuff he _did_ remember.”

“She,” Ellian corrected. 

“She,” Kaladin agreed. “Right.”

“Who are you to get involved with this?” Ant all but snapped. “She’s my sister. Who are you?”

“Kaladin!” Ellian said. “He’s Kaladin! That’s who.”

“What, your…roommate? Traveling companion?” He squinted. “I don’t see why he matters.”

Ellian made a noise of outrage, but Kaladin just shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right. I should probably go—”

“Don’t do that!” Ellian all but yelped.

Ant looked completely befuddled. “Right. Yes. I guess you have to stay.”

“I guess I do,” said Kaladin. 

“You do,” Ellian agreed. 

“Got it,” Kaladin said. “Is this because Thane—”

“Much as I hate to admit it, she is right,” Ellian said. 

Kaladin shrugged. “She might be.”

“What in _fates_ are you talking about?” Ant snapped. 

“Thane said I was replacing you with Kaladin,” Ellian offered. 

“That’s not exactly what Thane said—” Kaladin started to say.

“You’re not a fitting replacement,” Ant cut him off. “How long have you even known my sister?”

“A week?”

“At least twice that,” Ellian said. “But we were both unconscious for three days, and I count those.”

_“What in fates have the two of you been doing this whole time?”_

“I was trying to go to Gahille,” Ellian offered. “With an Ech—”

“ _Gahille?”_

“With an Echo,” Ellian repeated. 

“ _You were trying to go to Gahille? Why on earth—_ did I mishear you?”

“She was traveling with an Echo when I met her,” Kaladin confirmed.

Ant burst out laughing. “Sly, you really had me going there for a second.”

“That’s all true,” Kaladin said. “Her name was Serin, and one of our companions had to kill her. Ellian was furious about that.”

Ant stopped laughing, and also breathing. “Please tell me this is still a joke.”

“It’s not—”

“Ellian, what in the name of all that is holy and all that is not, what possessed you to want to go to _Gahille?”_

“I was looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“They’re dead, so it doesn’t matter,” Ellian said. 

Ant suddenly glanced over his shoulder. “I hate to cut this short, but they might cut off my hand if they find me in here again tonight. The Keepers are far more brutal than the Truthguards are when it comes to this sort of thing.”

And with that, he slid out of existence.

Ellian looked at Kaladin. 

Kaladin looked back at Ellian.

“Huh,” Kaladin said.

* * *

Vantos cut the connection on the Vessel and tried to duck into the same closet he’d hidden in before, but the door swung open before he could do anything. He tensed, readying to fight—

Skag stepped into the room. 

Vantos relaxed, ever so slightly. “Hello, Master Skag. I was just—”

“I know what you were doing, Hill,” Skag said. “I don’t hold it against you. I have to talk to you.”

Vantos’s hackles immediately went back up. “What do you need?”

“Have you ever heard of a group of people known as the Cyrailis?” Skag said carefully.

“I haven’t,” Vantos said.

“I am one,” said Skag. “We’re what came before the Truthguards, _or_ the Keepers of the Words. And our true aim is just to collect and preserve knowledge, rather than gain power. Though we will destroy these organizations if we can.”

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“We want you to join us,” said Skag. “What do you say?”

"Will you get me out of here?"

"I swear it," said Skag. "We will."

 _I’ve been burned too badly by the Truthguards, and the Keepers of the Words are even worse,_ Vantos thought. He broke out his ill-used grin once again. 

“I think that I will accept your invitation,” said Vantos. “What do you need me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the Truthguards and Keepers of the Words and Cyrailises and the Seri’i Alhyses will be explained. I swear.


	52. Cyrailis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everything that happens in this chapter was entirely invented by me

Skag took Vantos out of the Keepers’ stronghold that night. 

The wind howled around what looked to be a half-destroyed, apparently abandoned warehouse just outside Fedris Idri; yet Vantos, looking around, saw the telltale signs of someone having been there recently. This was the entrance to the Keepers’ main compound, after all. Even if they had used Control to keep him from remembering it until now. 

“Are you an Augur?” Vantos tried to ask Skag, but the old man simply pressed his fingers to his lips and led Vantos onward, away from the damned building and the damned Keepers of the Words. That part of his life was finally over now. 

Vantos thought that, if he were a softer person, he might have been weeping. There was a knot of some sort of emotion he couldn’t name sitting at the base of his throat, making it hard to swallow, making it hard to breathe. But he had clung to this hard-edged version of himself for altogether too long for him to let it go, and so instead he simply squared his shoulders and followed in Skag’s wake.

Eventually, Skag led him to a main road of some sort and from there to a small house. The windows were lit cheerily by actual candles—this was not a rich person’s home. But despite the brightly lit windows, the door was hung crooked. One hinge was detached. The door wouldn’t open, merely fall out of its frame…

Vantos took in the house as a whole, and realized there was no way anyone had lived here for years. It had to have sat abandoned since even before the Blind invasion. A cold knot of dread settled in his stomach.

“Where is this?” he asked Skag.

Skag pressed his free hand to his lips. “Shush.”

Vantos tried not to clench his fists. “I—”

Skag glared at him. “Donot _speak,_ ” the old man hissed. 

He shrunk away, but no. He wasn’t in the Keepers’ stronghold. They couldn’t do anything to him. “Where—”

Skag backhanded him across the face. Vantos couldn’t even see the blow coming. The old man moved like a viper, right in his blind spot. “I told you _not to speak._ ”

Vantos could taste blood in his mouth. He raised his hand silently to his face, feeling a raised welt where the man’s thin silver ring had dug into his cheek. Despite that, he didn’t seem all that injured. _Fates._

Skag shot Vantos a glare and led him towards the back of the house, where another door swayed ever so slightly in the breeze. At least this one had both of its hinges, even if it was missing a doorknob. From the way it looked, someone had kicked it in, and then the house had sat vacant long enough for the wood to rot ever so slightly. _Why in fates would they put candles in the windows of such a house? It would only make things too suspicious. Anyone looking at this place would see that it was off_.

The thing was, though…not anyone would notice. A house with no lights on in the early evening, just outside of town, would be stranger than one with. Ilin Ilan was an important enough city that anyone who could live near it would, at least up to the Blind invasion. But that was nearly a month ago, and this place had clearly been left to spoil for far longer than that. Vantos would give it a year at least. A house like this should not have sat vacant for so long. 

Skag pushed the back door open, and they stepped into the house.

It reeked of vomit and rot and mold. The floor was dirt; the walls sagged. It looked like a pair of half-rotted fingers— _only_ their fingers—were lying in the doorway to another room of the house, and if Vantos’s guess was right, that was the only other room in the house. He shuddered, rubbing his hands together.

“So,” said Skag.

Vantos didn’t say anything.

“Your name is Hill, right?” Skag said. “Vantos Hill?”

Vantos nodded.

“You can speak now, boy. Answer my questions,” Skag said.

“Yes,” he said. “My name is Vantos Hill.” _Fates, it smells awful in here._

“I suppose you have questions, huh?” Skag asked.

“I do. What—”

“Hold your tongue. You will get no answers of your own. Just _answer the questions._ ”

Vantos resisted the urge to growl in frustration. 

“So,” Skag continued, “do you know anything about the Cyrailis?”

“No,” Vantos bit out.

“Keep your temper in check, kid,” Skag said. “The Cyrailis is an ancient organization. We collect information.” He paused, as if waiting for input.

“In a rotting shell of a shack?”

Skag slapped him again, harder. Vantos’s ears rang, and his eyes watered. His vision went blurry for a long, terrifying moment. “ _Hold your tongue_. And quit whimpering, boy, it’s making me want to hit you again.”

“Bastard,” Vantos hissed through clenched teeth.

“That’s me. Now shut up. I’m explaining things.”

Vantos shut up.

“The Cyrailis has been around for longer than Andarra has,” Skag said, voice full of grandiosity. “We kept the knowledge of more than two thousand years safe. And then, for some reason, we were fragmented. Split into three parts. We kept to the old goal of knowing things, of preserving knowledge for the future. The Truthguards decided that all knowledge needed to be protected from the unwise, and branched off. And the Keepers of the Words decided that the rulers of a country needed all knowledge possible, and they split off. The two factions have been warring ever since. And we have infiltrated them both. We have all of the knowledge of both groups and more.”

Skag stopped speaking again. Vantos didn’t dare open his mouth. 

“Do you have any questions, Hill?” Skag said.

“I—”

Skag stepped forwards suddenly, and Vantos stopped speaking again. “Good,” said Skag. “You realize that you can just nod, don’t you?”

“I can’t,” said Vantos. “I’m so dizzy I might fall over—”

Skag smacked him again, hard on the opposite side of his face, and the world twisted around until Vantos suddenly found himself in the dirt. With the old man looming over him. “I didn’t ask for excuses. Get up.”

Vantos scrabbled to get his hands under his shoulders enough to sit up. The world was still spinning. 

“Get _up_ ,” Skag said again. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you.”

“ _Bastard_ ,” Vantos hissed again. “Bastard son of a dog and a cow. Your mother must have been a whore.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Skag said. “She was very good at her job.”

Vantos’s eyes watered, and he tried to push himself up.

“Did I really hit you that hard?” Skag asked. 

Vantos tried to shake his head no, but the world seemed to spin around him and he collapsed again. “Rennel damn near beat the life out of me this morning,” he bit out.

“Oh,” said Skag. And then: “Get up anyway.”

“I _can’t—_ ”

“You can and you will. Stand.”

“I’m _trying_ —”

“I don’t want an _excuse_ ,” Skag said. “I’m not going to go easy on you because you’re injured. I’m trying to prepare you for what you’re going to have to deal with. Stand. Up.”

Vantos pushed himself about four inches off of the ground, and then Skag bent over and grabbed him by the back of his shirt and _hauled_ him upright. “ _Faster_.”

“I—”

Skag pushed him into a wall. “Lean on this if you need. But _do not fall_.”

Vantos nodded, and then lost his balance and slid down the wall until he managed to grab a piece of the splintered, rotten wood strong enough to hold him. He ended up on his knees.

Skag sighed. “Have you had anything to eat today?”

Vantos blinked at him, then shook his head _no_.

Skag sighed again. “Those damn Keepers. El-cursed pigs. We’ll feed you every day. At least twice.”

Vantos nodded. 

“But not right now. Stand up.”

Vantos tried to stand up by pulling on the piece of wood. It cut into his fingers. He was fairly sure he was bleeding. A soft whine escaped his lips.

“ _Stop_ that,” Skag said. “Stop whining. Stop doing that. They’ll _hurt you_ if they think you’re weak. Reforge the sword, blah blah _blah_. Get yourself together, Hill.”

Vantos finally got to his feet, but he kept his bloodied hands clenched on the piece of the wall. 

“So,” said Skag finally. “Do not respond verbally. All questions asked by the Four will be yes or no questions. You will either nod yes or shake your head no. If you do not know the answer, you _will not respond._ You will not speak. You will not leave unless told to. If they hurt you, you will not cry out. If they push you down, you immediately stand back up. If they cut you, you do not whimper. If you bleed out onto the ground and die, it will be better than if you ask them to stop. Do not ask them any questions. Do not speak to them. Do you hear me? _Do not speak_.”

Vantos nodded.

“Good. They will take you to a room. You will be offered bread and water and a platter of meat and wine. Do not drink the wine. You are going to want a clear head. Do you follow me?”

Vantos nodded.

“Good. You will be led to another room. They will cut your hair. They will shave your face. You will not be allowed to have any say in this. You will not speak. If you speak, if you complain, the Four will hear about it. You will be bathed, and then you will be led to another room and told to sleep. You will not be able to sleep. You will try to sleep anyway. Understood?”

Vantos nodded again.

“In the morning you will awaken. If you make the mistake of drinking the wine, you will now have a blinding headache and the hangover to end all hangovers. You will be taken to a courtyard. It will be frigid. You will be doused in water and forced to answer the questions of the Four. The Four will wear robes and you will not see their faces. Do not try to. They will hurt you for it.”

Vantos opened his mouth to ask a question, and then thought better of it.

“I’m not one of the Four, boy, I’m just trying to help you,” Skag said. “What do you want?”

“Won’t they hurt me anyway?” Vantos asked, hating how plaintive his voice sounded.

“They will,” said Skag. “But they will break you if you try to see their faces. Life is hard without an arm.”

Vantos gulped, and then nodded.

“You will be brought before the Four. They will ask you questions. If they do not like what they see, you will be sent to Ghardis. Ghardis will hurt you. Ghardis will break you down into your component parts and put them together again in a way that satisfies the Four. If you are sent to Ghardis, you will become unrecognizable to the people who knew you before he got his hands on you. You seem like a nice kid. I hope you are strong enough to avoid that. It’s a bad fate.”

Vantos shook his head.

“Speak. I have no idea what that means.”

“ _I will not be broken_ ,” Vantos hissed.

“If they send you to Ghardis,” said Skag, “you will be.”

Vantos glared. “I will not. I survived the Keepers—”

“The Keepers’ treatment of you was _child’s play_ compared to the things that Ghardis does,” Skag said, suddenly furious. “If you merely ‘survived’ the Keepers, Garadis will break you in a matter of hours.”

The old man sighed, seeming to deflate. “I hope that doesn’t happen to you. You have a family still looking for you, I’d wager.”

Vantos blinked at him.

“The Vessel, son. You wouldn’t be there unless you really needed to speak to someone.”

“What if—”

“That’s a yes or no question,” Skag said. “Do not speak.”

Vantos nodded.

“Good,” said Skag. “Do not cry out. Stand up if they knock you down. Do not fall unless you must. Do not cry. Survive, Vantos. I want you to _survive_.”

Vantos nodded. “Why?”

“I’ve seen too many people who haven’t,” Skag said. “And you remind me of all of them.”


	53. Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellian relives the worst day of her life.  
> Meanwhile, Vantos finally gets to experience his.

That morning, Ellian walked downstairs, sat down at Kor’ad and Thane’s table, and said “Break it.”

Thane squinted blearily. She clearly hadn’t had her tea yet. “What?”

“The mind block. I want you to break it.”

Thane choked on her roll. “ _What_.”

“I want you to break the block in my head,” Ellian said again. 

“What happened? I thought you were dead set on us not—”

“Vantos is _alive_ ,” Ellian said.

“What are you talking about?” Thane asked. Kor’ad also looked confused.

“Do you…not know?”

Thane closed her eyes. “Ellian,” she said gently. “Whats done is done. Ant is dead. I know it’s hard—”

“I’m not making this up,” Ellian said. “Ant is alive.”

Kor’ad stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth and stared at them both in absolute puzzlement.

“Why do you think that?” Thane asked. 

“I—” Ellian started, but Thane cut them off.

“Didn’t you see him die? In your—”

“Hey,” said Kor’ad. “Let the kid talk.”

“I saw Ant,” Ellian said. “Three times.”

“You had hallucinations?” Kor’ad said. “Did you tell Kaladin?”

“It’s not!” Ellian said. “Ask Kaladin. He should wake up soon.”

“What do you mean?” Kor’ad asked. 

“I mean I _thought_ I was hallucinating, until Kal saw it too,” Ellian said defensively. “And he said that Thane was supposed to have told me, so. Why are you playing stupid?”

Thane shrugged. “Shen and I agreed it would be best to leave it until after the block came down,” she said. 

“ _My brother was suffering_ ,” Ellian said. 

“Whoa, whoa,” said Kor’ad. “What’s going on? I’m out of the loop.”

“I thought my brother was dead for almost three years,” Ellian said. “And now he’s not, and I remember what happened differently. For some reason. And _Thane didn’t tell me._ ”

Kor’ad looked at Thane. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Thane said. 

Kor’ad closed his eyes. “Older or younger brother?”

“Older,” Ellian said. 

“Was it your fault?”

Ellian dropped his plate. 

“I guess that’s a yes, then. How old were you? Ten? Eleven? It couldn’t _really_ have been your fault. I first killed a man when I was sixteen, and that wasn’t my fault, either, really.”

“You _what_.”

“I killed a man when I was sixteen, and didn’t stop until about a month ago.”

Ellian stared at him. “I thought that Serin was _unusual_.”

“Serin was an Echo. That doesn’t count.” Kor’ad stood up, pushing his chair in. “I get the impression we’re going to have to talk about this for a while. After you do…whatever magic thing you’re going to do, I think I’ll get Kaladin and Jandel and we’ll just sit and talk. And, um, Thane. You’re without a doubt a killer. How old were you?”

“I was twenty-five, and it was very much my choice,” she said stiffly.

“Kaladin was sixteen,” Kor’ad said. “Jandel was either thirteen or fourteen. Thane is the unusual one here. None of us had a choice.”

Ellian nodded. “It wasn’t my fault,” she said. “I know that. Just… _how did you know_?”

“Everyone blames themselves for everything,” Kor’ad said sagely. “The real question is _why_. I guess you weren’t fast enough?”

Ellian drew a face. “I stabbed him through the eyeball, actually,” she said. “But someone else made me. With Control. This is almost for _sure_.” 

Kor’ad gaped at her, and then back at Thane, and then stabbed at his breakfast. “Someone put you in Telaesthesia? If I ever—”

“In _what_?”

Kor’ad’s expression went distant. “Black armor with no faceplate, where someone else controls your every move from afar…”

“What, like the Blind?”

Kor’ad nodded grimly. “You may remember that I ran away from them,” he said. “If they stooped so low as to start taking _kids_ , I think I may have to go back and _kill someone_.”

“Whoa, whoa,” said Thane. “We’re in _public_. It was recent.”

Kor’ad stiffened. 

“They might not put a knife in you,” Thane continued, “but sooner or later someone’s going to overhear you talking about cheating on your brother’s wife, so you _might_ want to keep that quiet.”

Kor’ad turned and looked at her. “Yeah. My brother would be _mad_.”

“That’s right,” Thane continued. “You don’t want people to _hear_ about us. Right?”

“Right.”

“What?” said Ellian.

“Discretion,” said Thane. “I’m sure you remember that. Well, about that block…”

* * *

Later that day, after Kaladin had woken up and Kor’ad and Jandel and Warren had dragged themselves all off into the city, Thane and Ellian sat alone in a dark room and prepared to break the rest of the block. 

“This is going to be unpleasant,” said Thane.

“It can’t be worse than before,” Ellian said.

“It can always be worse,” Thane said darkly.

 _Fates, who peed in her beer?_ “I really don’t think it will be,” she said. 

Thane sighed. “Look. I’m trying to warn you. Be ready. And don’t hate me for this.”

Ellian pulled a face. “I already know it’s going to be unpleasant. Just _break the block_.”

Thane sighed again, and then reached out and touched Ellian’s face. She felt the vaguest start of a _rummaging_ sort of feeling in her mind, and then everything went dark.

* * *

Vantos was woken up early that day, and as Skag had predicted, he had scarcely slept a wink that night. He ran over the litany of things that Skag told him. _Do not speak. If you are asked a question, nod. Get up if you fall. Don’t cry. Don’t hurt. Don’t die._

The dark-robed person who woke Vantos up was a cheery-looking man probably four or five years older than Vantos himself. “It’s your Test today, huh?”

 _Do not speak. Respond by nodding yes or no_. Vantos nodded. 

“Good, good,” said the person. “You know the rules. You can nod or shake your head. So, how long have you been preparing? You look young. What—two years?”

 _I’ve been here for exactly one day_ , Vantos thought. He shook his head no.

“Longer?”

He shook his head again.

“One year? No? Six months, maybe? _No_? Fates, where did they _find_ you?”

Vantos shrugged. He stood up out of the bed, and the cheery man handed him a similar-looking black robe. It was like a _bathrobe_. He figured it was better than being naked, though, and he was supposed to follow instructions, so he started to wrap it around over his linen shirt—

“You don’t wear anything under your robe if you’re being Tested,” the man said. “Seriously, how long have you been here?”

Vantos held up one finger.

“A month?”

He shook his head. Counted out seven fingers, and then held up the one.

“Eight? _What—_ ”

Vantos rubbed at his good eye with one hand. “One day,” he whispered.

“You aren’t supposed to _speak_!” the man yelped. 

_Fates._ Vantos made to apologize, and then caught himself and nodded. 

“You’re a _liar_ , too,” he said. “The Four wouldn’t Test someone who’s only been here for a _day_. What are you trying to do, show off?”

Vantos shook his head, and the other man fell silent. He clearly was not to be believed. He put on the bathrobe. The cheery man glared at him when he walked out. 

“So,” said the man, who really needed another adjective other than _cheery_ for Vantos to attach to him. “You’re taking the Test today. You know the rules.”

Vantos didn’t know anything other than what Skag had told him, but he didn’t think that the not-so-cheery man would appreciate being told that. 

“I’ve been told to inform you,” said the not-so-cheery man, “that the rules have been changed for you. There will be no portion testing you on your working knowledge of the Cyrailis organization. This is often the easiest portion of the Test, and so I have to be honest, I don’t envy you at all. They’re only testing your resolve. Despite that, the Test is supposed to still be the full four hours. I suppose they want you to fail.”

Vantos shrugged.

“You know that failure of resolve sends you to Ghardis, right? You should be panicking.”

Vantos shrugged again. 

The cheery man closed his eyes. “Fine. Fine. I don’t know why I’m even trying. Your breakfast is outside. Good luck on the test. I hope they don’t break you too badly.”

Vantos nodded, and then went out the door.

There was a table there. Funny. He didn’t even remember if there had been a room there at all, but there was, and there was a table in it. And there was _food_.

Fates, he wasn’t even hungry. How long had it been since he’d had an actual _breakfast?_

He strode to the table, grabbed a roll of bread, and forced himself to eat it. He would have a long day ahead of him. 

* * *

_Ellian fell into their own mind, and for a moment everything was jumbled and confusing…and then the world resolved itself into a dark room at the Shen school. Ellian recognized it as the room that Maron and a boy named Arcen shared._

_“Red?” Ellian asked._

_There was no answer. Ellian took a step in._

_There was a hand sticking out from under Maron’s bed._

_“Maron?” Ellian asked again. This was…strange. Somehow, distantly, some part of her knew this was the past, and that it didn’t make any sense, and that part of her hated Maron with a burning passion she couldn’t even comprehend, but the rest of her was here and worried._

_Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she whirled around._

_It wasn’t Maron._

_“I am your friend,” the stranger said. “You know me. You do not notice anything strange about me.”_

_And it was true. Of course it was. It was Maron. Who else would it be?_

_“You do not see a corpse in this room,” Maron said, and she agreed. There was no corpse in this room. That was a perfectly normal hand under the bed…_

_“You will forget that there was anything strange in here as soon as you get to your room again,” Maron ordered. “Go back to your room and practice Essence. You need to. You have a test tomorrow.”_

_That was right. She needed to practice Essence. She had an important test tomorrow._

_“Sorry for running off on you, Red,” she said. “I have a test tomorrow.”_

_She went back to her room…_

…The memory ended abruptly.

“Wait—” Ellian yelped, coming back to herself. “I don’t know what you just broke, but it was long before Ant was not-murdered.”

Thane raised an eyebrow.

“I saw someone,” Ellian said. “It—”

“Let’s finish this, and then we can discuss your memories,” Thane said.

* * *

The Four sat at a high stone table at the end of a room. They looked to be four people in those same bathrobe-like things that the not-very-cheery man had given Vantos. However, the Four also had deep black hoods, and Vantos suspected masks as well. He could see nothing of their faces. 

Their hands, however…

The one on the left was wrinkled like a prune, and so was the one seated next to them. The one to the far left had skin so pale white it was nearly blue, with vivid red scars that ringed each finger. As though each one had been cut off, and then reattached with Essence. 

The one on the left of the center, seated on the inside, had their aged hands wrapped around a whip that Vantos recognized as one meant for flogging. He really hoped he wouldn’t get hit with that. The weights in the ends would cut into his skin, and Skag had told him that he was not to cry out, but that would be pure agony. Fates. He was going to fail. He was going to—

He took a deep breath. Hands. Analyze them. The person on the inside right had hands that looked like they belonged to someone around his age. Despite that fact, there was what looked like a stud of some kind driven through their thumbnail. It went through to the other side of their thumb, a fact that Vantos could see because they were idly tapping it on the blade of a long, wickedly curved knife. The clink of it sounded like the toll of a bell in the silence. 

The one on the very end had their hands folded under the table, so Vantos couldn’t see anything about them at all other than the black-wrapped sheath sitting on the counter. 

All three of the Four he could see had a thin silver ring on their middle finger. 

The Four stared at him in silence until he was profoundly unnerved. He wished he hadn’t eaten that roll. He felt nauseous. That could have just been the nerves. The scuffed wood floor below him was discolored with what he thought was probably blood. He couldn’t stop _noticing_ that.

The one with the stud through their thumb stopped tapping their fingers and stood up, as did the other four. 

“Your name is Vantos Hill?” one asked in a melodic, high-pitched voice. He had no idea which had spoken. 

He nodded.

“You wish to prove yourself useful to the Four?” This was a different voice, raspier.

Vantos nodded again. 

“You will prove your resolve before the Council of Cyrailis?” another new voice said this. This time, Vantos could see that the soft-sounding voice came from the person with a stud in their nail. 

Vantos nodded a third time.

The last one stood silently and impassively, and Vantos realized suddenly that this was a sort of ritualized thing that wasn’t going according to plan. Nail-stud glanced over at the one next to them, and Vantos figured the one with the black-wrapped sword had to be the one who had not spoken.

The one with the stud huffed out a breath in resignation. “Will you be strong enough?” they asked.

Vantos nodded. 

“We will test you, then, and see that your conviction is true,” the stud-nailed one said. “Prepare yourself.

Vantos watched, nerves making his throat tight, as the Four all stepped away from the counter and walked leisurely down the stairs. The old one whose weapon Vantos hadn’t been able to see had a handful of thick silver needles, much like the one stuck through the thumb of another of the Four. He tried to suppress a shudder. 

Actually, scratch that. He tried to suppress the sound of him hyperventilating, the shudder was a lost cause. He was panicking. Skag would be so disappointed. He was going to get sent to the torturer Garish or whoever it was. He was—

The sound of a something whistling through the air behind him made him stiffen, and it hit the ground in front of his feet. “Remove your shoes,” said the one holding the whip in their melodic-sounding, unusually high-pitched voice.

Vantos barely stopped himself from asking why, and instead mutely bent down and untied the laces of his boots. He stepped out of them carefully. The stained wood was smooth and warm under his feet.

“Take down your hood,” the one with the whip ordered, and he did. 

The one behind him—Vantos thought it was the one with the black-wrapped sword—reached in front of his face and blindfolded him. Vantos did his best not to panic. _Okay, so I can’t see any more. This is fine. This is totally fine._

Someone reached out and yanked off his bathrobe, so he was standing there freezing, naked and blindfolded. He bit back a yelp. _Do not cry out_ , Skag’s voice admonished him in his head. Fates, he hated this. But it was necessary, so he would survive it. He _had to_ survive it—

The whip whistled through the air and cut a line of fire down his back. Vantos fell to his knees, and then slowly stood back up. He thought he could feel blood trickling down between his shoulder blades. Under the blindfold, tears of pain pricked at his good eye, but he forced them back with nothing so much as n effort of will. _Do not cry_. 

“Are you strong?” he heard someone say.

He nodded yes, clenching his teeth.

The whip whistled through the air again, but this time it didn’t make contact with Vantos’s skin, and so his breath caught for nothing. He heard footsteps behind him in the silence.

Someone _stabbed him in the arm_.

He couldn’t help it; he jerked the arm back, and he could feel whatever it was _stick_ in his _arm_ like a…like one of those damn needles that one of the Four had carried. 

“Are you willing to bleed for us?” one of the Four rasped.

Vantos’s arm was tight against his chest, but he dropped it to his side. He nodded.

Someone grabbed the needle and drew it out slowly. It felt like there was a line of _burning fire_ in his arm, right down to the bone. Hot, sticky blood trickled down to his fingertips, but there wasn’t as much as he might have expected. He didn’t feel the least bit woozy. Just confused, and terrified, and in _pain_.

Someone hit him hard across the back of his shoulders with something heavy. Like a club, or the sheath of a sword. There was no way it wasn’t going to bruise.

“Will you take the pain meant for others onto yourself?” the one with the stud in their thumb asked. Vantos recognized the voice. Something in him remarked that he had a good mind for voices, and despite himself he nearly laughed at how out of place the thought was. 

He nodded. 

Someone grabbed his hands and turned them over, so they were out and facing palm-up as though he were to be handed something. He thought the one pulling on his arms was the one with the stud in their thumb. He felt something scraping along the outside of one of his wrists, anyway. 

They held his hands out, and another one drove a needle into the fleshy part of his palm, so it stuck out between his finger and thumb. The pain of it nearly drove him to his knees.

“Will you suffer in order to preserve the knowledge that would otherwise be lost?”

Vantos nodded again.

Someone remarked wryly, “it’s almost as though he doesn’t know that he can say no.”

Vantos almost responded to that, but held his tongue. He _didn’t_ know it was an option to disagree.

They left the needles in his hands. They burned. 

He could hear footsteps as they circled him like vultures. The wind was cold against his bare skin. It was supposed to take hours, wasn’t it? How long had it been? Surely only a few minutes. Blood leaked from his back slowly and traced lines all the way to the ground.

He heard the slick sound of metal scraping on metal and stiffened.

Someone suddenly hit him, or kicked him, in the backs of the knees and sent him tumbling to the ground. They put the point of something sharp and metal, like a sword’s tip, at the back of his neck. “Would you sacrifice your own life to save the words that those who cannot protect them would have protected?”

Vantos thought about it. He shook his head no.

“ _And_ he shows some backbone,” snorted the one with the stud in their thumb. “Stand up.”

They did not remove the sword at his neck. Vantos hesitated.

“ _Stand. Up._ ” Someone kicked him viciously in the ribs, and Vantos jolted to his feet. They moved the sword with him, but didn’t take it away from his neck. He didn’t think he was bleeding from there, though. 

The whip cracked again, and came down on the top of his shoulder. Better there than his back. Vantos did not cry out. 

“Would you be willing to make any sacrifice for what is right?”

Vantos nodded. 

“How do you know what is right?”

“Honestly,” the one with the stud in her nail hissed. “He can’t respond.”

“I still wanted to ask,” the one who had asked the questions responded. 

Someone grabbed hold of his shoulders, and Vantos tensed. _Needles?_

They stabbed the needles into the space between his spine and his shoulder. _Fates-cursed needles_. He failed to bite back a whimper this time.

Someone drew a knife across his lips, splitting them evenly down the center. Despite himself, he lurched backwards, and drove the sword at the base of his neck ever so slightly into his skin. He held his breath, but no one touched his face with the knife again.

“Are you capable of defending others?” someone asked, right in his ear. This was the third voice again. The one with the needles.

Vantos jumped and nodded, and then hesitated. Shook his head. And then nodded again.

“Well that’s _incredibly_ helpful,” Thumb-Stud said. 

That meant that all three of the Four but the one with the sword had spoken. He thought that was kind of odd. There were four of the Four, and yet one of them had never spoken.

The sword at his neck drew back, and then someone hit him with that club-like thing again. He stumbled and fell to his knees. _Do not stay on the ground_.

He tried to push himself up, but there were needles in his hands and the rush of agony made him weak; instead he collapsed bodily to the ground. He didn’t make any sound. The blindfold was wet with tears, and he was exhausted already. 

He held his hands carefully, and forced himself up anyway. It wasn’t like he had another choice.

* * *

Thane poked at the block in Ellian’s mind, and the memories took hold of her once more. 

This time, she was trying to rescue Ant; she didn’t want to relive that. But she had to see what lay beyond the block…

_…Someone followed them into the dense forest._

_Ellian didn’t see it, but she knew they were there._

_They were alone in the forest. She was jumping at shadows. Ellian believed this deeply, all of a sudden. Her conviction in this was equally as strong as her belief that a stone would fall if it was dropped. If she had been paying more attention, she would have realized how strange that was._

_She helped Ant lean down against a tree, and then sat down herself. She opened a small pocket in her coat, and drew out her knife._

_Wait, she thought. What am I doing?_

_She drew the knife out of his pocket and held it overhand. She plunged the weapon into Ant’s left eye, as though she needed to do it quickly. Lest she change her mind._

_Something in her forced her to work the knife around, and in the sobbing gasps of Ant’s breath and the razor-lines of agony and fear and the pure expression on his face, Ellian could feel the horror she had just wrought. She had killed her brother. She had just killed Ant. What in Fates had compelled her to do that?_

_Ant suddenly seemed to understand. With shaking hands, he leaned forwards ever so slightly and wrapped Ellian into what could have been a hug if he hadn’t lost his strength in the middle of doing so._

_“It’s…” he croaked. “It’s going…to be alright, Ell…ian.”_

_His right eye went flat and glassy. And whatever had been holding Ellian still through this cut out, and his belief that they were alone did too._

_Ellian stared in mute horror for a second._

_And then, almost without meaning to, she began to scream._

_Red stepped out from behind a tree. “Shut up.”_

_Ellian did. Wordlessly. Without even questioning it._

_“Your brother is dead,” said Red._

_Ellian already knew that, but now it was without question. Beside her, Ant stopped bleeding._

_“Your brother will not come back,” said Red._

_Her brother was dead. There was no coming back from that. Silently, for she couldn’t speak, the tears started rolling down her face._

_Someone next to her took a deep, shuddering breath._

_“Your brother is still dead,” Red said, and something seemed to push at her mind. And she suddenly knew, with all of her heart, that the boy lying on the ground was dead. She felt this with the same conviction she had that day would turn to night, or that water would flow downhill. Nothing could have convinced her otherwise. It struck her as vaguely strange, and then she ignored that, too._

_Far away, as though through a haze, she knew that some sharp-edged part of her was screaming._

_Red turned to leave through the trees. “I was never here,” he said. “You don’t remember this. You found your brother’s corpse here. You need an Administrator’s help. You did nothing but your schoolwork this past week.”_

_She had just arrived. Her brother’s broken body was lying in the forest. Someone had stabbed him through the eye. She stared at the corpse in shock, noting the bruises, the cuts, the broken bones. Not even capable of seeing the rise and fall of his chest._

_She heard someone walking through the trees, saw the flash of blue. An Administrator. Perfect…_

…the memory ended, and she blinked and saw that she was still in the room with Thane.

“Fates,” she whispered.

“What?” asked Thane.

“Red was an Augur,” she said. “Wait. No. Red was dead, I think. There was an Augur who told me they were Red. That was the Augur that made me kill Ant.”

“ _What_?”

* * *

Vantos stood, shaking soundlessly, panting in agony, but _still standing_ , on the blood-slick floor of the Four’s council chamber. He was freezing. Blood ran from countless scores in his back from the whip, needles in various places, cuts from the knife or the sword, punctures all up and down his arms. He felt like he had more bruises than not. Dots danced in his vision, and his legs were shaking with the effort of staying upright. But he was still standing.

He held the blindfold in one damaged hand, the needle still stuck through the muscle of it. The Four stood back at their high table. The three of them that spoke were conversing in hushed tones. The fourth, the one with the sword, just stood impassively by and gazed at the red-drenched room. 

Vantos found this whole process inscrutable. He did not speak about that fact.

He was still standing.

His vision blacked out for a second, and he came to on the floor. Three needles were pushed far further into his ribs that he would have thought possible, but he honestly didn’t even know if he could scream at this point. He tried to stand up without putting any weight on any part of his body; that didn’t work so well, but he did stand up. The Four stared at him in tense, drum-tight silence.

_Fates, fates, fates…Did I just fail?_

“You’ve done it now,” the one with the whip said eventually. “I told you extending the time for this part of the Test was a bad idea.”

The one with the stud in her thumb shrugged. “I told _you_ that I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t necessary to spend four hours on the damned thing. Besides, you heard what Fein said. He didn’t eat anything.”

“No one collapses before lunch because they haven’t eaten _breakfast_ that day,” the one with the whip said dismissively. “That was blood loss.”

“Have we come to a decision yet?” the third one of the Four asked. The fourth one, who didn’t speak, inclined their head slightly.

“We have,” said stud-thumb. “He passes. Only because of the need, though,” they continued. “They were—”

“He had one day of preparation,” the one with the whip. “Give the kid a break. He probably isn’t even twenty yet.” 

The one who hadn’t spoken inclined their head sharply. 

“Right. Not even twenty, and passed.”

“Barely!”

“Barely my ass,” cut in the one with the needles. “You would have been a crying mess on the floor and we all know it.”

“I did my fair time with Ghardis, but so did you!” the one with the stud in her thumb spat, standing up. 

“Can we be civil?” the one with the whip asked. “He’s still here.”

The one with the stud in her thumb sat down. “I maintain that he needs training.”

“I didn’t say he didn’t, but this wasn’t my idea,” the one with the needles said. “And neither did you. All blame for this rests on the shoulders of one of our number, and we can argue about it like ninnies or we can let _him_ make a case for this.” She gestured to the one who did not speak. “Care to enlighten us?”

The man shrugged. “I think you should let him speak for himself. He’s got a tongue on him, this one.”

Vantos knew that voice. His weary mind dredged it up somehow.

“You may speak,” the one with the needles said. 

And that was it. He had to know. 

_“Skag_?”


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is a lot of Unintentional Thievery in this chapter. and by unintentional i mean it is of the ' _oh god where did my plot go?' variety_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My grandfather has been in the hospital since Sunday night, and I've been sick, so there haven't been as many chapters up lately, as i have not written them. I appreciate your patience, and hopefully I'll be back to my normal pace of _writing madly_ every day and being able to upload daily. If i can't, I'll try to let you know.

“It’s been a week since I joined you,” Warren said over dinner that evening. “I only have another two days before the head baker at my job fires me.”

The rest of them stared at him. 

“My _job_ ,” Warren stressed. “I’m going to lose my _job_. Besides, it isn’t like I can come into Ilin Ilan with you. We’ve already had trouble with the authorities.”

It was true. The Administrators hadn’t taken kindly to a Shadow in their group, and Denna had had to do something magical and Augurish—something that Kaladin honestly suspected was _Control_ —to them to make them leave the six of them alone. 

“So you need to go back?” Jandel asked around a spoonful of soup. “That’s a week of travel.”

“Not for her,” Warren said, and pointed at Thane with his spoon. “If she uses those boots of hers, it’ll only be a couple of hours or so.”

Thane nodded. “I have things I need to be doing back up there, anyway,” she said. “The Vessels you, Jandel, those things that you gave me will be immensely useful, but I do need to do that soon. It’s been a nice couple of days of downtime, though.”

“You’re leaving?” Kor’ad asked. “We just _got_ to Ilin Illan.”

“This was never my destination,” Thane shrugged. “I’d best get back to the rest of the Truthguard expedition up in Thrindar.”

“Where’s Thrindar?” Kor’ad tried to ask, but Warren yelped over him. “You’re going to _Desriel_?”

Thane snorted into her soup. “Why wouldn’t I go to Desriel? Athian says that the Nine Gods themselves are apparently wreaking havoc on our country. Where else would I be?”

“But— _you_? In _Desriel_? You could,” Warren looked around and lowered his voice hastily, “You could die!”

“Do you _really_ think I’m going to _die_? I’m just going to look around, Dusty.”

Warren rubbed his forehead. “It’s _Desriel_ , Thane.”

“I’ve _been_ to Thrindar before,” Thane said. “The Gil’shar don’t even know who I am, and worst comes to worst I can shape-shift, and with the new Tenets I can fight. _And_ I’m a fair hand with a sword. Relax. I’ll be fine.”

“Anyone know where Ellian went?” Jandel asked suddenly.

“Ellian’s outside with his dog,” Thane said. 

Jandel pushed his seat back and stood up, muttering something about _candies_ and _thieving children_. Kor’ad stole his half-empty bowl of soup and immediately started to scarf it down.

“He’s going to be mad,” Warren said.

“I know,” Kor’ad said back, and drank the rest of Jandel’s soup. 

“Why would you do it if he’s going to be mad?”

Kor’ad shrugged. “I don’t like him.”

The rest of them stared at him. 

“I don’t, okay? He’s not a good person. He’s a liar, and he’s done a lot of really underhanded stuff while I’ve dealt with him. Did you know I haven’t even known him six months? No, he puts us all in Telaesthesia, activates it, keys it to himself, and suddenly I wake up on the other side of the Boundary with everyone else in my squad burned most of the way to death. And he doesn’t even falter. Just says, oh, that’s the way of things, and promptly _chases me through a forest_ until I agree to find someone to help me. _He_ wasn’t burned. I’m still mad about that. He at least deserved to have his face also look like a damn cook had thrown oil on it.”

“Didn’t Kaladin heal you?”

“After he figured out Essence, yeah, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t _hurt_ like a dar’gaithn until then. Anyway, he deserves to have his soup eaten. End of story.”

Thane snorted. “You sound like Ellian.”

“Ellian’s a good kid.”

“You barely even know them.”

“He’s a damn well better kid than I was,” Kor’ad said lightly, and licked his lips. “Well, I’m going to go up to the room, but we need to talk later. I have to build a life here. I’m stuck for good,aren’t I? I don’t know _anything_.”

“Well, the army is always looking for recruits,” Thane said. “You may as well sign up.”

Kor’ad glared at the empty bowl of soup. “That’s all I’m ever going to be good for, huh?”

“When are you going to have time to learn to be anything different, though? I'd love to know,” Thane asked sardonically. “You’re in your thirties, dead broke, with no skills to speak of but killing. I imagine you’re illiterate too, aren’t you? You are what you are.”

Kor’ad cracked the falsest grin Kaladin had seen in what may have been his entire existence as both Kaladin and Cyr. “That’s true,” he said, with feigned nonchalance. “That’s very true. Well, it’s late, and I’m tired.”

“Have a nice night,” Thane said.

Fates, that was _cruel_. But Kor’ad was leaving, so Kaladin didn’t get in the middle of it. 

“So,” said Warren, after a long, uncomfortable semi-silence. “What are you all planning to do?”

Kaladin glanced around the table. It was just him, Warren, and Thane. “You just mean me?”

“I just mean you. What are you planning to do?”

“I have a goal in mind,” Kaladin said, and left it at that. 

The conversation lapsed once again.

The door slammed open, and a victorious Jandel dragged an irate Ellian through it to find that his soup was missing. He squinted at the empty bowl. “Who did this?”

“Kor’ad,” Warren said. “Went to the rooms.”

Jandel took his coat off and draped it on the chair, then walked off in the direction of the stairs. 

Ellian immediately began rifling through the pockets until he found a small handful of candies in one. He grinned sharply and shoved it into the pocket of the coat he’d gotten from Kaladin, and then also stole a thick, triangular-bladed knife and what looked like six silver coins before Jandel left the hallway.

“He’s coming back,” Kaladin whispered.

“Thanks,” Ellian whispered back, and stole his roll of bread.

“Hey—Ellian, give that back!”

“Nah,” said Ellian, and sprinted for the door. “Come play with Lucky and me.”

Warren sighed theatrically. “That dog, Kaladin…how did you possibly manage to make the innkeeper let us keep it?”

* * *

The next day—the third they had spent at that inn overall—Warren packed his bags, and Thane packed hers, and Jandel and Kor’ad got their things together, and so did Kaladin and Ellian. The six of them were leaving. Thane changed her face to that of a muscular, short woman with red hair and pale gray-blue eyes, and Warren seemed to have recognized her with a start before they prepared to leave.

They gathered outside in the mist as the sun rose over the horizon. It burned into the sky like a hot iron; then it was morning, and the sky was lightening from violet-black to flashes of brilliant red and pale grayed-out blue.

“Goodbye,” Warren said to Ellian, and no one else, and he patted Lucky tentatively on the head once. And then he and Thane vanished in a burst of lingering rainbow over the horizon.

“She’s not going to be back for a long time,” Ellian said. “I might never see either of them again until I die.”

Jandel nodded solemnly, and then scratched at his beard absentmindedly and glared at the road in the opposite direction. Just off in the distance, they could see all the way to the imposing walls of Fedris Idri rising through the mists. “We should also get moving.”

Kaladin nodded. “It’s high time we made it to Ilin Ilan,” he agreed.


	55. Ilin Illan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vantos gets a Quest, and everyone else just (finally) gets to a city.

They took almost a full day to reach Ilin Illan, and then the week-and-a-half long journey was over. Kaladin felt a sense of almost sorrow at the end of it.

“So what now?” he asked, turning to Jandel. 

“Now, we find Athian. Another Truthguard,” Jandel explained. “His name is Taeris Sarr.”

* * *

Vantos sat cross-legged on his unusually comfortable bed in his unusually not-cramped and unusually not-windowless room and waited for the Four to tell him why they needed him. Lances of sunlight cut through the windows. How long had it been since he’d seen proper sunlight? Probably years. Or minutes, depending. That was a matter of perspective. The sun was right in front of him, now, wasn’t it?

He got the impression they needed him personally. 

Vantos was not stupid. This whole ordeal was hastily done and poorly executed. They should have approached him weeks ago, and they should have done this slowly. He should know more about the Cyrailis. They needed him, or someone like him; fates, they probably needed him in _specific._ There were undoubtedly Cyrailis agents younger than him; he’d seen them on his way in, so it couldn’t just be that they needed someone with a youthful face. It also couldn’t be because of his relation to the Keepers of the Words—there had to be at least fifty or so people just like him in the Keepers’ dungeons acting like their puppets, so why would they approach him? Why the one who had made it clear he was unlikely to follow orders, unlikely to help, and more trouble than he was probably worth? 

And the speed at which they tried to recruit him. That was the strangest thing. It had to have been something forcing their hand. But why possibly…

Could it be because of _Thane_ and his connection to her? Surely they knew she wasn’t even going to bother coming for him. He couldn’t get them any closer to the Truthguards. And besides that, it was clear they had people within the ranks of the Keepers of the Words. Why wouldn’t they also have people who had infiltrated the Truthguards’ ranks?

No, it couldn’t be because of Thane.

So _why him_? What did he possibly have that no one else did that was so ultimately vital to the Cyrailis? 

Someone rapped twice on the door with its actual _inside handles._ Vantos stood up and opened it. “What?”

“You need to get dressed,” said the person. “Why are you wearing _that_?”

He was still wearing his bathrobe from the Trial. He’d assumed that was just standard. Like a uniform, or something. But no, this person—as far as Vantos could tell, a woman in her mid-thirties—was wearing normal clothing. 

Vantos stared at her. “Where do I find real clothes?” he finally thought to ask.

She pointed impatiently at a door to the other side of the room. He hadn’t tried to open it. It didn’t seem prudent.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and went to the door-that-led-to-a-closet. It opened into a tiny closet with nothing but a shirt and pants inside. Good enough. The other door was still open, so he walked back across the room and closed it, and then went back to the closet and put on the soft, well-made clothing, and came back.

The woman was staring at him with an incredibly unimpressed, flat look as he emerged. “Did you really not realize there was clothing?”

“I didn’t,” Vantos said, and left it at that. She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press him, so they both stood in silence until eventually she got to the point. 

“The Four want to see you.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Vantos muttered. “Where am I going?”

The woman stared at him again. “The…council chamber,” she said eventually. “Do you need help getting there?”

“Yes,” said Vantos. 

* * *

Ilin Illan was a huge city, the likes of which Cyr remembered as being only ‘moderately large’ and Kaladin could hardly even conceive of. The walls of Fedris Idri were so tall that he had to crane his neck to see to the top, and the buildings of Ilin Illan seemed to stretch all the way up to the sky. 

“Kaladin, quit being such a _tourist_ ,” Ellian hissed.

“It’s a good cover story,” he hissed back. “We’re new in town—”

“I’m not,” Ellian hissed back. “I lived here for two years, remember?”

“And if we turn up at the fates-cursed palace with the information that three of us have never seen the city and one of us was a damn _beggar_ , how much more likely are they going to be to let us in? No, we pretend to be new arrivals.”

“You’re going to get pickpocketed,” Ellian warned.

“I haven’t got anything in my pockets to pick.”

Jandel and Kor’ad talked quietly between them, but Kor’ad laughed at that. 

“It’s true,” Kor’ad said in an undertone. “We’re all dead broke but Jandel.”

“What about the money you made?”

Kor’ad blinked. “I’d almost forgotten about that. It’s back with Jandel.”

“You’re trusting _him_ with every scrap of money we have in the world? Give it to me.”

“Why would it be a better idea to give it to you?” Jandel asked, turning slightly so that one side of him was further away from Ellian. Kaladin immediately knew which pocket the money was in, and so, he figured, did Ellian. 

Ellian, on his part, smirked. “Because I can be into and out of your pockets in three seconds, and you would never even notice you’d been robbed,” he said lightly. “Give me our _money_.”

Jandel glared at him. “You’d just run off with it. You’re a _thief_ —”

Ellian stumbled, and Kaladin reached out to steady him, but he tripped into Jandel anyway. “Sorry,” the kid muttered. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Jandel shrugged and helped him stand straight. “No worries, kid. But— _why are you smiling like that…_ ”

“Check your pockets,” Ellian said, a sharp grin of triumph on their face. 

Jandel did. 

“ _What did you do!_ ” the man said. “Where is the money. What did you—”

“I pickpocketed you,” Ellian said. “Just like anyone else in this city might have. Don’t keep your money in one pocket like that, and certainly not an _outside_ pocket.”

The entire group stared at him. 

Ellian closed his eyes. “I’m going to hold onto this,” the kid said. “Because not having any money in this city is bad. And you’re going to lose it in five minutes flat.”

And with that, Ellian stuck the bag of money into his shirt. He fiddled with it a little bit—and then the bag seemed to vanish into the folds of the fabric.

Kor’ad nodded approvingly. “So you say you know this place. Lead the way, kid.”

* * *

The Four’s council chamber turned out to be the same place that the Test was held in. This time, they had laid out an ornate, soft carpet over the bloodstained wooden floor. That was not immensely comforting.

The Four also weren’t wearing those deep robes with no faces, and that was slightly more comforting. There was Skag, on the end. His half-out-of-his-mind guess at the end of the Test hadn’t been wrong, then. 

Next to him was the one with the stud through their thumb. This was a young woman, maybe a year or two older than him. She had short, short hair and very pale skin, like a person from Desriel. Her red hair was curly and stuck up about as far as it could, which was maybe an inch. It was very short, after all. She was looking down on him with an expression of what could have been disgust, or possibly jealousy. He didn’t know which, but the distinction seemed to be an important one, and his instincts hadn’t led him wrong before. He immediately distrusted her. 

Then the next one was wearing gloves, but Vantos thought they were the one who had used the needles during the Test. The one with the pale, pale old hands with scars crisscrossing them in bright red. She was an old woman with a kindly, grandmotherly face that was totally at odds with the dark red scar cutting through her lip and running all the way to the corner of her left eye. Her white hair was tied back into a severe bun, and another intensely red scar zigzagged through her hairline to her right ear. One of her eyes was clouded by milky blue cataracts, but despite this, her gaze was piercing and sharp as a razor. Vantos couldn’t shake the feeling that she was _studying_ him, like an animal under a magnifying glass.

The last was another old man, much like Skag, though he seemed to be occupied with something on the high table. A book, maybe. Vantos couldn’t see it. He looked wizened and scholarly and utterly harmless. This would be the one who had used the whip, though, and so he had to be stronger than he looked. He had flayed Vantos’s back through the muscle and all the way to the _bone_ in some places. Were he not healed with Essence, the wounds he’d gotten from that man would no doubt have festered and killed him. 

Vantos fought down a shudder. These people were not going to kill him. They clearly needed him alive for some reason. _Focus on that. They need me. Don’t panic, Vantos, just stick to the facts…_

 _“_ We are here today,” said the old woman with the scars, “to discuss your first task.”

Vantos nodded. This was it. This was why they needed him. 

“We need you to join the traveling group of a man named Cyr,” said the woman. “This is absolutely vital to our organization’s goals.”

Vantos blinked, and considered that he was definitely also vital to this plan that they had, and figured that—caution be damned—he could speak up and be impudent and they couldn’t do anything to him. 

“Why do you need _me specifically_ to do it?”

Three of the Four stared at him in unadulterated shock. Skag snorted. “I told you he was quick, didn’t I?”

“How did you know we needed _you?”_ the one with the stud in her thumb asked. 

“It was obvious, wasn’t it? You would have asked anyone else if it didn’t _have to be_ me, and you’d have done it properly. I was a huge risk. Why did you need _me_?”

The old woman with the scars sighed. “Let us explain. It is the mentality of the Cyrailis organization as a whole that our agents need as much information as we can give them to be successful. Working with us is vastly different from working with either the Keepers of the Words or the Truthguards in that we will never withhold pertinent information from you. Everything you will need to know will be explained. But for that, you need to _listen_ to us speak.” She leveled a glare at him. “You do not seem to be capable of that.”

Vantos bristled, but he forced himself to unclench his fists and nod. “I can listen just fine,” he said.

“Then do not interrupt,” she said. “My name is Nelia. The woman next to me is Daralie. The man next to me is Ertan. And of course you know Skag. We are the Council of Four. We are the supreme authority in this place. You should know to hold your tongue—”

“Nel, he doesn’t even seem to know that he _can_ hold his tongue,” Skag cut in. “Have you met him? The kid is as impudent as they get.”

Nelia grinned, and the side of her mouth that was scarred moved unevenly with the other side, giving her a suddenly fearsome countenance. “He should fit right in, then, huh? I suppose he must remind you of yourself.”

Skag laughed. “And how many times was I in trouble for that?”

Daralie cleared her throat. “Jokes can wait until _later_. We have a job to be doing.”

Vantos stared at them. Silently.

Nelia nodded. “Right. Yes. So, you need to infiltrate this Cyr’s traveling party. Cyr is an incredibly old being, possibly an Augur, from beyond the Boundary. He is traveling with anywhere between three and five individuals. Two of them are total mysteries to us, and so we believe they may be Blind soldiers. One of these people is Thane of the Truthguards. Another is known as Candlelight, a much lower-level operative from the same organization, and one of the mystery people. You have a familiarity with the Truthguards, I believe?”

Vantos nodded. “I’ve met Thane before,” he said. 

Daralie muttered something to Skag, who turned and muttered something back. Vantos didn’t catch what they said, but the other members of the Council of Four looked vaguely unsettled. 

“Then you know they are the only group to have operatives on both sides of the Boundary,” Nelia said. Vantos hadn’t known that, but he didn’t want to reveal that to the Four, and so he said nothing.

“You should also know that one of the people traveling with them was a Shadow. This shadow’s name was Warren Arthen, and I believe you two were friends. Warren has apparently left the group, but we are not certain if this is a permanent thing. Another is your sibling, who seems very close to Cyr—”

“Ellian’s been _traveling_ with these people?” Vantos blurted. 

“We’re not sure if it’s of his own volition,” the old man who had used the whip—Ertan—said softly. “This is an ancient Augur we are speaking of. There is a chance that your brother—”

“My sibling,” Vantos cut in.

“Your sibling,” conceded Ertan. “There is a good chance that they are being Controlled, and there is another, higher chance that Cyr is surreptitiously Reading everyone he comes in contact with and using his abilities to manipulate your _sibling_ into a sense of loyalty. There is considerable evidence that your sibling was traveling with a companion for about a day, and that Cyr and one of the mysterious people traveling from the Boundary with him killed the traveling companion within a day of meeting them. Your sibling doesn’t seem to have had much of a response to that. It seems suspicious, hmm?”

Vantos turned the things he had just learned over in his mind and immediately began fuming. And then he remembered one of the conversations he’d had with Ellian and Ellian’s mysterious roommate. _‘Her name was Serin, and one of our companions had to kill her.’_ Fates, he’d thought that was some kind of _joke_. It was terrifying to think that this man might have forced Ellian to join them for whatever el-cursed reason. 

“Tell me what you need me to do,” Vantos said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i think i'm going to do one or two chapters to wrap this up, and then split it into a series. and probably not write much until i get my grades back up. this has been fun, but also a lot of work and i think i should...probably actually focus on my schoolwork.   
> so: sliptime will return, just not...as immediately as you might want.


	56. Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party says its goodbyes, and some loose ends get a little bit looser and a little bit more tied up in various different planes of intersection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last you'll be seeing of the Sliptimeverse for a little while, as i have more pressing matters (read: school) to attend to, and so for now this is the end. I'm making a series; subscribe to that if you have the desire to, and hopefully around the middle of June i should be back with the next installment.   
> I had a really good time writing this, and the entire reason was just the comments and the reaction i got from anyone who read it and said something to me. Thank you all _so much_

Early that morning, after Ellian had led them to a fairly inexpensive—if rather disreputable—tavern, Jandel and Kaladin prepared to find a man named Taeris Sarr and Kor’ad prepared to find an enlistment officer.

“You really have to do this?” Kaladin asked him in an undertone. “I wouldn’t stop you from staying with me and Ellian…”

“I’m going to be on this side of the Boundary until I draw my last breath,” Kor’ad said. “Might as well start to build some kind of a life.”

“You don’t have to be a soldier, though,” Kaladin insisted. “I could ask Jandel for some help—”

“I don’t want _anything_ of mine to come from him,” Kor’ad spat. “Sorry, Kaladin. It’s just—I _know_ I haven’t got any other options, okay? There isn’t a fates-damned thing I can do about it. I’m a soldier. You heard what Thane said. ‘I am what I am.’ I…I’ll be alright.”

That was the worst lie Kaladin had heard in a long time, and Kor’ad’s fists were clenched tightly enough that his nails had to be cutting into his palms; his knuckles were white with the tension. 

Kaladin looked away. 

“Look, I’ll…get in touch somehow if I need help,” Kor’ad lied a little bit more convincingly. They both knew it was a lie. The army would be fighting the people from beyond the Boundary. If things go to the point that Kor’ad needed _help_ , he was probably already going to be dead by the time Kaladin was able to catch up to them, and that was the honest truth. And they both knew it. 

“We’ll give you a little money to make things easier, at least,” Kaladin said. “Don’t fight me on that—you stole a _fortune_ off that one Administrator. And they have to pay you for enlisting,” he continued, stuffing the last of his meager possessions into a bag. “But it won’t be enough when it’s all the money you have in the world.”

Kor’ad nodded. “I couldn’t take your coin—”

“It’s not mine, it’s _yours_ ,” Kaladin insisted. “You earned it.”

Kor’ad evidently sensed he wouldn’t get any further, and he let Kaladin fish out seven gold pieces from the bag—enough to feed a family for years. A fraction of the fortune that Kor’ad had lifted from the Administrator, but still a fortune. 

“I can’t take…this…much…”

Kaladin glared at him until he fell silent. “You can, and you will. You deserve it ten times over. I’m serious.”

“Kaladin, are you ready to leave?” Jandel called from the hallway. “We need to hit the road soon.”

Kor’ad tried to hand the coins back, but Kaladin gently shut his fingers on the cold metal circles. “Keep it. And stay in touch.”

Kor’ad nodded mutely. 

Kaladin had the awful feeling, settling heavily in his gut like a stone, that he would never see the man again.

* * *

Jandel got Kaladin all the way to the damn _palace_ , and then turned to split off down a side street. 

“Where are you going? This, this _thing_ ,” said Kaladin, catching him by the arm, “this meeting, it’s all your idea. Jandel, I don’t know anything about this person.”

“You don’t need to,” Jandel said. “I’m going to go back to the inn with Ellian for a little while, say my goodbyes, and then head off. The Truthguards want to try to get me back beyond the Boundary.”

Kaladin stared at him. 

Jandel stared back. 

“How are you going to go _back_?” Kaladin finally asked. 

“I haven’t a fates-damned idea,” Jandel said. “Guess I’ll just trust in what Shen and Crown are telling me.”

“Crown?”

“Way above your level, and should be above mine,” Jandel said, brushing him off. “I can’t tell you anything about them except that they might, possibly, exist.” He shook off Kaladin’s hand and started to walk away again. 

“Wait—Jandel!” Kaladin called. “How am I going to find this Athian guy?”

Jandel didn’t even turn around. Fates. He _knew_ he would never see Jandel again unless something went incredibly, wildly wrong. For either one, or the _both_ of them. 

_Taeris Sarr. I just have to find Taeris Sarr, and then hopefully someone will explain this whole damned mess. And then I can find Tak’melar and do what I came here for._

* * *

Ellian was sitting—or, well, technically the word would be _moping_ —bored out of her mind, miserable as all hell, in the too-hot room in the inn. She was contemplating the rather less wise and significantly more fun idea of hunting down one or two of her friends from the time she had spent in this city. And that was when someone rapped on the door. 

_Storming finally, something’s happening. I thought I might die of boredom_ , she thought. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Jandel,” said Jandel’s unmistakable voice.

Ellian drew back the latch on the door. Jandel was standing in the hallway. Exactly as she’d expected. She wasn’t jumpy at all after those memories. Not in the least. 

“Why are you back? Where’s Kaladin?”

Jandel shrugged. “I’m leaving to join up with my people again in a city to the south. Kaladin is back at the palace. I’m here to say goodbye and pick up my things.”

“You’re leaving? Here, let me help you pack up,” Ellian said, and used this opportunity to pinch some candy off of him. 

“You sound glad to be rid of me,” said Jandel, gathering his already-packed knapsack and swinging it onto his shoulders. 

Ellian shrugged, with semi-forced cheer. “I’m getting rid of everyone today, huh?” 

Jandel shrugged back. “I suppose you are. Though I can’t blame you being rid of me,” he joked humorlessly. “Tell that dog of yours that it had better keep you safe.”

“What, Lucky? Lucky ran away,” Ellian said. 

“Your dog ran away?”

“I _think_ ,” Ellian said, “because he sure as hell isn’t here now. Who in fates would want a dog that looked like that? Other than me, of course.”

Jandel shook his head. “Plenty of people look at a dog like that, one that’s basically a wolf, and see it as a threat. I don’t know, kid, but he might be dead.”

Ellian shot for a not-totally-devastated expression and failed badly to hit the mark. 

“I’m sure Lucky’s fine!” Jandel backtracked. Failed _very badly,_ Ellian revised mentally. He needed to work on not looking miserable sometimes. 

“Well, you’re off, right?” she said to cover up the fact that she was _not happy_. 

“I’m off,” Jandel agreed. “Stay safe, kid.”

She shrugged. “Same to you.”

“I hope your dog turns up,” Jandel continued. 

“Me too.”

Finally, he left. Fates _damn_ it, she wanted her damn dog. 

She went back to staring miserably at the wall and considering doing better things for about a minute at the _most_ when someone hit her door, hard, exactly once. 

“Who’s there?” she called again. Expecting Jandel, or Kor’ad, or Kaladin at _least._ The voice that answered her was none of these people.

“Ellian?” asked none other than the voice of her not-dead brother Ant. 

* * *

“…So,” said Ant over a glass of murky water. “That’s how I managed to get out of the Keepers of the Words’ fates-damned dungeon and throw myself in with the Cyrailis instead.”

“I think Thane mentioned that,” Ellian said, and cast her thoughts back to what sounded so familiar. “The Seri’i Alhys, right?”

“You’re saying it all funny, Slick,” Ant said. “Cyrailis. Like it’s one word.”

“It was definitely two words, with a little stop in one,” Ellian said. “Or maybe even three words. Like a sentence. What does Cyrailis even _mean_?”

“I didn’t ask,” said Ant. “But there are…I have more important things to tell you.”

Ellian blinked at him. “More important than the fact that we have somehow now had dealings with at least three individual secret societies?”

“ _Very_ much more important than that!” Ant said, standing up to pace the length of the room. “Do you know that two of the people you’re traveling with are Blind soldiers?”

“Jandel and Kor’ad? They defected,” Ellian said defensively. 

Ant stared at him. “They _defected_ , so that makes it so much safer. Right, right. And they _killed your traveling companion—_ ”

“I’d only known her for a day, and she was an Echo! Just like what happened with the army!”

“What happened with the army?” 

“There were Echoes all in the ranks, and at a moment’s notice they immediately switched sides and _decimated_ the forces on Fedris Idri during the invasion a little while back. Did you really not know?”

“Of course not,” Ant said, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. “I was basically in a dungeon until three days ago. How did you know she was an Echo?”

“Um…” said Ellian. “She tried to kill Jandel?”

“ _I’d_ try to kill Jandel if I thought I could do it,” Ant all but snarled, and Ellian revised her opinion of the young man standing before her from ‘ _sort of_ like the way that my brother was’ to ‘totally not like Ant used to be.’ Ant wouldn’t kill _anyone_. 

“Don’t you dare,” Ellian said, steel behind her words. “I’ll stop you, Ant.”

Ant sighed. “And that’s the last thing. The worst part. This Cyr—”

“Kaladin never did anything!”

Ant recoiled. “ _Cyr the ancient Augur_ is the one of your fates-damned friends that I spoke to?”

“Yes,” Ellian said.

“This Cyr, this…Kaladin, he’s got all these Augur abilities and then some. The Cyrailis told me he was _immortal_. And he…Ellian, I don’t know how to say this, but there’s…we think you’ve been Controlled by him.”

Ellian blinked at him in silent shock for longer than a moment. 

Ant stared back. 

“Are you going to say something?” her brother finally blurted out.

Ellian closed her eyes. “Kaladin wouldn’t do that,” she said, but didn’t sound as confident as she would have liked. Damn. “At least…I don’t _think_ Kaladin would do that.”

She tried not to dwell on the thought, but the longer she considered it, the more conflicted she felt. Was it true? Could Kaladin have been _Controlling_ her all this time?

* * *

That night, after Vantos had managed to talk to Ellian in person, and after Ellian had yelled at him a little bit and eventually thrown a loaf of bread at him and told him to get out of her room, he went to his own dingy rented rooms in a dingier tavern than where his sister had been staying. He took some kind of nasty-looking but tasty-smelling sludge up to his room and proceeded to eat it, and then he went to go to sleep. A crinkling noise told him that there was a sheet of paper under the pillow…

On it was a command. Vantos felt like he wanted to throw up.

 _The Council of Four has one demand,_ read the letter. _You are to join Cyr, and then you are to kill all of Cyr’s current traveling companions. Failure will be met with extreme prejudice._

 _Good luck,_ it said on the back. This was written in a different hand. 

Fates, Vantos could barely even comprehend this. 

They wanted him to kill _Ellian_.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave some kudos or a comment! I'd die for some constructive feedback...
> 
> I'm going to go through and edit all of the chapters once I hit ~~50,000 words,~~ a stopping point of some kind, so seriously feedback will be _greatly_ appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~~~  
> i know i passed 50k a while ago but i’m working on a plot overhaul before i do a rewrite  
> 


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